Epistolary: The 50 Years Before We Were Born
by Maribor
Summary: In 1942 Manhattan, Amy contacts Edwin Bracewell & begins a friendship that will last half a century. Through correspondence & journals spanning 50 years she & Rory leave a chronicle of their lives and a legacy for the Doctor to remember them by.
1. February 22, 1942

_**I'll be honest. Amelia's Afterword left me rather cold. I don't blame her character because the truth is I found it to be written rather out of character. And while I loved Angels Take Manhattan, I think the whole episode was really, really rushed. They deserved more time and they all deserved better. So, egotist that I am, this is my attempt at a post ATM magnus opus. Not a fix-it fic, per-se. Its not really about fixing it, it's about giving us a glimpse into Amy and Rory's life after the Doctor is no longer in it and allowing them a real, final goodbye.**_

_**Oh and fair warning, because it takes some people off guard: implied history of Amy/Rory/11, though no actual sex scenes. I ship them polyamorous, Lord knows Moffat dropped enough hints. If you want a detailed explanation of why, check out my profile. I updated it to answer a few questions. **_

**Epistolary: The 50 Years Before We Were Born**

**_Exhibit 38,295,686,191_**

**_Ancient Correspondence including but not limited to: letters, journals, email, voice records, etc._**

**_To be retrieved only by: The Doctor_**

**_Archival: Indefinite/Perpetuity_**

**_Tag Reads: Come Along, Doctor_**

To Mr. Edwin Bracewell

From Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams

22 of February 1942

Dear Paisley,

Remember me? Sure hope so. If I timed this right, this letter should be arriving to that little Scottish village where your family owned the post office about a month after you last saw the Doctor and I. Wow...so much has happened since then. Maybe we should just start off with the basics. I'm married, to the best man in the world. His name is Rory Williams and we've known each other since we were wee bairns in Leadworth. We've settled in Manhattan...in 1942. We arrived here in August of 1938 and we've managed to build a life for ourselves.

We're not travelling with the Doctor anymore. In fact, we won't ever be able to see him again. Rory and I were both transported back here and there's no way we can get home again.

This is home now. We've been living here for nearly four years and its been hard but we're surviving.

There's a lot of things for which we had a heads up. WWII for instance but then again you're probably not calling it that just yet are you? With the help of our daughter (long story) we've established a history for ourselves. We're officially US citizens now, some story about our respective parents being expats. No one seems troubled by certain inevitable inconsistencies, people don't investigate as thoroughly here as they did in my time. Back in 2018 they could have ferreted all of this out on the internet in about five minutes flat. Oh, I'm doing it again, aren't I? You don't know what the internet is either. I still keep slipping up like that every now and then. Rory tries to get me to be a bit more careful. I am trying, honestly.

Anyways, I realize this may be a big favor to ask but I was hoping you could help us. We never got to say a proper goodbye to the Doctor. He was our best friend. The best friend anyone ever had and in a moment we got ripped from his life and he from ours. We miss him, terribly. I've enclosed a book which should make our situation a bit more clear, it explains just about everything that lead us to here. My daughter encouraged me to write an Afterword. I struggled with it, knowing it would be the last time I ever got to communicate with the Doctor. Rory and I went through dozens, literally dozens of drafts before settling on the one we thought explained it all. Then when the book was published, they gutted it.

One hundred and ninety five words.

One hundred and ninety five words to sum up a thousand lifetimes worth of adventure. One hundred and ninety five words to describe travelling the universe with the two men I've loved more than anything in creation. One hundred and ninety five words to say a final goodbye. Rory and I were destroyed.

But then I had an idea.

I thought of you, Mr. Edwin Bracewell, a living bomb who loved life so much and fought so hard that he became a real boy. I thought maybe you could help. I know you can't send the Doctor a message now anymore than I can. But, well not to be indelicate, you just might be the closest thing we have on this planet to an immortal. You might just outlive and outlast us all. If you did, if you do, could you deliver a message to the Doctor for me? The _real_ final message from Rory and I? I know it's a lot to ask, I know it's probably pretty indecent to bring up death in our first correspondence but I thought it might be worth a try.

Sorry if this is rude, Paisley. I still haven't developed much tact and 1940's New York isn't helping matters. So, did you ever find Dorabella? I hope so. No matter what you decide, take care Mr. Edwin P. Bracewell, the man who fought to be human and won.

Yours most affectionately,

Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams

**A/N:**

_**The fantastic image for this story is supplied courtesy of missyserendipity, please check out her Tumblr and DeviantArt at missyserendipity dot tumblr dot com and missyserendipity dot deviantart dot com.**_


	2. March 14, 1942

14th of March 1942

Dear Mrs. Pond-Williams,

Of course I remember you, it's unlikely I'd forget such a wonderful young woman who played such an important role in my life. Let me first express my congratulations on your wedding to Mr. Rory Williams, he sounds like a fine gentleman worthy of such an amazing, brilliant and compassionate young lady. I must admit I assumed you and the Doctor were betrothed given the trust he showed in you and the affection in his gaze. However, I realize now that you were just the best of friends. Which brings me to the need to express my condolences on his loss. Our brief interactions together were enough to impress upon me what a great man he is.

In response to your request, my answer is; I would be honored. I would be happy to safeguard your letter to the Doctor. As soon as technology permits I will transcribe your message and continue to do so as each new form of communication becomes available.

I understand your concern, but I have faced my mortality once and I have no fear speaking of it frankly now. I have contacted Prime Minister Churchill who has in turn contacted His Royal Highness King George VI. If anything, these plans for me to end as a museum piece were drawn together so quickly I suspect they might have had a similar end decided for me anyways. In the actuality of my death, my body is to be collected and immediately taken into the Private Royal Collection. It is to be stored along with this correspondence and your communicae until the 51st century at which time it is to be placed on permanent display in the National Gallery Museum with the strict instructions that it may be retrieved by one man and one man only, the Doctor. This country and indeed this planet, I imagine, owe a great debt to the Doctor and to you. This is the least we can do for you and your friend, _our _ dear, dear friend.

On a personal note, to answer your other question I did indeed find Dorabella and she and I are married and well. She has a curious eye and a keen wit and was able to accept my uncommon condition without much difficulty. I am terribly sorry for your predicament Mrs. Pond-Williams, while I am not from the time of which you are familiar, I can scarcely fathom my dismay if I found myself in the 1890's. The adjustments, the disorientation, the loneliness. Please do not hesitate to contact me, in fact, I hope we may become great pen friends. Perhaps when this war ends, Dorabella and I may pay a call to you and your husband.

When the war ends...gracious, it occurs to me you know when that will be!

I hope we win.

Until we speak again.

I remain your devoted friend,

Mr. Edwin P. Bracewell


	3. April 3, 1942

_**At some point I had all this math worked out. Even though Amy says she and Rory have been travelling with the Doctor for 10 years their time, not his or Earth time there are still other mentions that tell us it's NOT 2012 in the story. For instance during the Christmas special when he visits them at the end. She says it's been two years since they last saw him. Two years since he "died" and disappeared. That's not Doctor time or Amy and Rory time that's real/Earth time making it at least 2013. And there are quite a few more references like that, that at the moment I'm too lazy to find, but trust me, when we last saw Amy and Rory it was like 2018 or 2019, I think Moffat confirmed this...somewhere and I think the newspaper in ATM says 2018 too. Also, the other day the BBC released some unused dialogue from "Angels Take Manhattan". (How could they not use this wonderful dialogue!?) This is a snippet of a snippet.**_

**"AMY: "I'm 34."**

**THE DOCTOR: "Didn't ask."**

**AMY: "No, but I could hear the sums going on in your head. How old are you these days?"**

**THE DOCTOR: "No idea."**

**AMY: "Oh, shut up."**

**THE DOCTOR: "I don't. I live in a time machine, I don't age – there's nothing to go on."**

**AMY: "Excuse me, mister, you've got seven grey hairs."**

**THE DOCTOR: "You counted?"**

**AMY: "It's a hobby."**

**THE DOCTOR: "I try to keep up – Time Lord instinct. It's only polite! Can I have a go?"**

**He takes Amy's glasses from her nose, pops them on.**

**THE DOCTOR: "Actually, that is much better. Never knew I needed glasses, that's exciting!"**

**On Amy just staring at him for a moment – amused but troubled. Is he ageing just to be kind?"**

_**So, I'm going by the idea that Amy and Rory are 34 in 1938 when they're sent back which puts her time of death around 1991? So Rorys' is in 1986. I think... Anyway, as she writes this she's 38. **_

_**By the way the idea of the Doctor aging for them is so incredibly sweet. Man, he loved them a lot. I am so going to use that in other fan fics.**_

_**I tell you, I'm doing more research for this one story than for my entire Masters thesis... which I should be working on by the way.**_

_**Ok, that's the end of my authors notes...so exhaustive, so annoying...ugh, you guys must hate me.**_

To Mr. Edwin Bracewell

From Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams

3rd of April, 1942

Dear Paisley,

In a word; YES! I would love to be pen friends. It's actually fairly lonely around here. You wouldn't believe how many times I have to repeat myself just to be understood. And the bagpipe jokes never stop. My accent survived Leadworth, 19th century Provence and the Asylum of the Daleks, but Manhattan may just kill it. Another loss to throw on the woodpile.

Rory is excited but also a bit nervous as he's starting medical school in the Fall. Of course he's light years beyond what they're teaching but he's got to learn to do things in this decade. Medical knowledge came a long way from 1942 to 2018 and he's worried about adjusting. He's already frustrated about all the people he might lose because there won't be the proper equipment or the proper knowledge. But he can't help needing to help people. That's my Rory, soon to be Doctor Rory Williams.

Melody, (our daughter) falsified some documents for us, as I think I mentioned in our last letter. We're citizens, with birth certificates, social security numbers, college degrees, we have an apartment on 5th Avenue, and a 1938 Cadillac Series 75 Fleetwood Sedan. Car wise, I have no idea what any of that means but it made Rory really, really happy. She even got us stock in Proctor & Gamble. That's our Melody, she spoils us. I wish we could have gotten to spoil her. Someday, I'll tell you about her.

Anyways, we're doing fine, actually, compared to everyone else we're doing much better than fine. We try to do our part by buying war bonds and helping with blood drives and tire drives and scrap drives. I feel quite patriotic!

I was getting bored just sitting around at home. For the first few months I spent most of my time going to see movies. But sitting in a dark theater was no way to spend a life. I tried playing the housewife, but I just wasn't very good at it. In the end I went out and got myself a job. Working as a secretary, again doing my part for the war effort, not sure how but letters do need to be typed I suppose. I kind of imagined myself learning to be a mechanic and putting together bomber engines but not much call for that in Manhattan.

Guess that's all for now. Please stay safe, Bracey. I do know how the war ends, but there are very, very dark days ahead for the world. Do me a favor, stay in Scotland, live, love Dorabella.

Write back soon, my friend.

Yours,

Amelia Pond-Williams

**Please review, how do you think its going so far? I contacted FanFic help people by email and they said they'd add Bracewell as a character but so far nothing. Maybe I'll get more reads with it being labeled as an Amy/11 story anyways. Review, review, review...and thank you so much for reading this odd little story I'm muddling through...more letters forthcoming!**


	4. June 2, 1942

_**A/N Not much to put in the way of authors notes other than Bracewell is referring to the Battle of Midway. The surprise attack by the Japanese which actually wasn't so much of a surprise. It started on June 4th and concluded on June 7th of 1942. Codebreakers determined the date and location of the attacks and what followed was a most decisive blow to Imperial Japan and its navy.**_

_**Here endeth the lesson.****_

2nd of June 1942

My Dear Mrs. Pond-Williams,

First let me apologize profusely for the tardiness of this letter. I'm afraid it took a great deal of time for the care package from Dorabella containing your letter, and many other things that make me ache for home, to arrive. I am not at liberty to discuss my precise location or the reason why my hands shake as I write. By the time you read this, I feel something will have been decided in this war one way or another. It seems silly to keep thing from you, my future friend who knows all, but the fear that this innocuous letter may be intercepted keeps me silent. What if I somehow changed the future? is that possible? Can the future change?

In any event, do not worry, I am safe and well. But I am also compelled to do my best for King and country. Much as your husband feels compelled to do his best. I think we, all of us, are doing as the Doctor would like us to do. We are, as the Prime Minister says, buggering on.

I am happy to hear about Rory and I know he will make a fine physician. Your letters are so fascinating to me and always leave me thinking about them and you long after I finish. Imagine traveling back in time and trying to convince doctors before Joseph Lister about the existence of germs!? I cannot imagine the frustration he may be in for but I think it is worth it.

I wish not to burden you, my dear but...we are hearing disturbing stories coming from Germany. Terrible things, atrocities unimaginable. I fear this is what you were hinting at with your mention of "dark days" and I fear what we are hearing is true. God help us all.

On a lighter note, you mustn't lose your accent. Hold firm, even in the face of the brutish American slang! From one Paisley to another, stick with it!

About your daughter, I must admit I am a touch confused. You and Rory cannot possibly be more than your mid to late 20's (I hope you'll pardon me for guessing at a lady's age). How could you have a daughter old enough to engineer all that? I speculate the answer will make me even more confused than I am now, yet I wait eagerly to hear it.

I am glad to hear you are doing so well. I think I am just pleased to hear that somehow there is still something fair in the world, there is something prospering. I am even more pleased that fortune has smiled upon someone for whom I care deeply. The London I knew is no more. The destruction of the Blitz seems so total I cannot even fathom recovery. I wonder at times what world are we fighting for? What will remain when this is all over? Who will we all be?

You, Mrs. Pond-Williams, give me hope. When things are at their darkest I think of you and remember there is indeed a future. A future where bright young women may live and thrive and breathe clean air. A civilized world free of the Nazi menace. You are a beacon in these dark times and I do so look forward to your letters.

All my best to you and your husband. If you don't hear from me for awhile, do not despair. My location will no doubt be changing frequently in the next few weeks and months but your letters will eventually reach me as I hope mine will reach you. Stiff upper lip, lass. And take care of yourself.

I remain, as always your devoted friend.

-E. Bracewell


	5. July 28, 1942

28th of July 1942

Dear Bracey,

Your last letter scared me a bit, not because of what you said. You were right, by the time it reached me the battle was over. It scared me because it had a big sticker on it clearly stating that it was "Opened By Examiner 3212" God, they're reading our mail! It also took a lot longer than normal to reach me by air mail. I hope that won't start being a habit.

Rory is rushing through medical school. They think he's a marvel, best thing since sliced bread. They've already got him seeing patients. Some of the stories he's coming home with you wouldn't believe. People actually think smoking is harmless, not just harmless but healthy. They show up at the hospital, rundown, hacking coughs and they can't figure out why. Then they light up in front of him. That's one of the harder things to get used to, everybody here smokes! Filtered cigarettes are only just now coming into fashion, it's absolutely mad! By the way if you smoke, Bracey, stop! It might not kill _you _ but it won't do any favors for Dorabella.

We got a new phonograph. My dad had one when I was little and there is something comforting about it. Makes me miss home though. It occurs to me, they'll never know what happened to us. Not my mum and dad or Rory's father. We'll have just vanished. I hope the Doctor goes back and explains it to them or at least makes up a clever lie. Those are the thoughts that keep me up at night sometimes. In fact I'm writing this at 3AM. I don't sleep all that well anymore. Rory needs his rest so I usually just creep out of bed, put on a record really low and sit in the lounge and think. Sometimes I consider doing more writing than just my letters to you. I think about writing about my adventures with the Doctor. All the things we saw and the places we traveled to. But other times I think that might hurt too much. Not to mention who would ever be interested in reading such a thing. These aren't exactly whimsical times, now are they?

Oh, I got a one time modeling job! As a scrap girl, no less. I'm posed on the back of a car above a sign that says; "Please Drive Carefully My Bumpers Are On The Scrap Heap!" it was mad! They just asked me as I was walking out of Macy's. Wonder what would happen if Mum and Dad saw that in an old issue of _Life_ or _Look_. I'm enclosing a copy for you as a laugh, along with a recent picture of Rory and I. These clothes feel a lot less like costume or dress up now. How do I look? The other woman in the picture is our daughter, Melody. We've nicknamed her River so if you hear me refer to her as that you'll know who I mean. Isn't she lovely? I'll have to tell you about her someday. Send me a new photo of you and your wife when you get a chance, I'll frame it and put in on our mantle.

I find myself oddly detached from the news, yet fascinated by it just the same. To me...this is history, long dead history, frozen in photo's of black and white. History that you cram for so you don't fail an important test. On one hand it's like watching a movie that I've seen and halfway paid attention to a million times. I know how it goes, I know the ending, its all in the past. On the other hand, it's real. Too real. One of the girls I work with, her husband is in North Africa right now, she's terrified for him every day, because this is real life, _her_ real life. To me, whether he's alive or dead, and I don't know if he is, has already happened, it's a personal fixed point. But not for her. So everyday her neighbor meets her at work with the mail, if there's a letter, she and I go to a little cafe at lunch and I hold her hand as she opens it. She's look at me with tears in her eyes and says; "It's ok, this time, Amy! He's ok!" And we'll laugh and cry together and she reads me what he's written. I don't know what I'd do if Rory got called over. It could happen, we're Americans. I can't even think about it. I love him so much, I couldn't make it here or anywhere else without him. Not to mention, I don't think we can even leave Manhattan. I think we're stuck here.

Our friends think it's sad that we don't have any family around, they're always inviting us out to dinner or over to play cards and listen to the radio. We have them over to our home a lot too and I've become quite the hostess with the help of the brand new Betty Crocker Cookbook.

So, tell me all about you. You must be working so hard I can scarcely imagine. That's another reason why it means so much when you take the time to write to me. Thank you. Stay safe and stay well, as always, Dorabella would like you back in one piece and so would I. Don't let Churchill work you too hard, he's a slavedriver that one.

You asked and I have no problem answering. Rory and I are 38. No one quite believes that, so I guess we're holding up well!

That's all from this end, write back as soon as you can.

Oh and one more thing, for God Sakes call me Amy.

Yours always,

Amy

P.S. Yes, Paisley. The future can chance. Time is written, rewritten and unwritten every moment of every day. I know that all too well.


	6. November 15, 1942

15th of November 1942

Dear Amy,

Again, I know it has been months since we last spoke and I apologize for the inexcusable delay. My location was in such a state of flux that I scarcely had time to eat or breathe much less sit and engage in two of my favorite activities, writing to you and Dorabella. My life, which was governed by alert sirens and all clears now seems oddly quiet. I spend a good deal of my time in the lab. Ideas still come to me now and again and I take to my drawing board and sketch out rather dreadful things. Somedays I feel I may never be able to create anything ever again. Everything is tainted by by Ironsides or rather the Daleks. Everything I create can only be an instrument of war and destruction. The only thing I did manage to fashion with a positive bent was a prosthetic arm for myself. I feel very nearly close to being a fully functioning human being again.

The war goes on as it must. I heard a particularly rousing speech from the Prime Minister the other day when I was invited to attend the Lord Mayor's Luncheon at Mansion House in London.

The Prime Minister remarked; "This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning"

He was referring to the war effort of course, but I think it can have a deeper meaning. For myself, for those assembled, perhaps even for you, my dear Amy.

I noted a touch of sadness in your last letter. These are indeed sad times but they shall pass. This shall all come to an end someday. The sun will shine, the clouds will break and we shall all breathe free air. The Prime Minister does have a way with words, I hope his sentiments of hope and resilience echo across the waters to America.

Your "scrap girl" picture was delightful. I have forwarded it to Dorabella for safe keeping, along with the picture of you, Rory and Melody. Your husband is a handsome fellow with a keen face and kind eyes. The woman in between you, your daughter, is lovely, like her mother. She has your eyes, I think and that strong will. If I knew Rory better I'm sure I'd see more of him in her as well. As it is, she has a kindness that I see reflected in both of your faces. It's clear you love her very much and she you. I look forward to many stories about her.

Enclosed please find a photograph of Dorabella and I, taken late last summer. She is far, far too good for me and I eagerly anticipate the day I can return home to her.

I confess in my weaker moments I am indeed a smoker. I enjoy a cigarette but especially the occasional cigar every now and then. I shall endeavor to break myself of the habit before returning home to Dorabella, I would not wish to so injure her and I trust your foreknowledge and advice.

The rationing here is beginning to tax even the heartiest of souls. Begun in March, we've been faced with decrease after decrease in coal, electricity, gas and clothing. I anticipate a rather grim Christmas for us all. But hopefully not for you, my dear Amy. I hope yours is filled with laughter, love and light.

Take care, stay safe,

-Always, your devoted friend,

Edwin.


	7. December 18, 1942

18 of December 1942

Dear Mr. Bracewell,

This is Rory by the way, Amy's husband. I'm writing on her behalf but she doesn't know it. I know how she so looked forward to corresponding with you and I imagine you might be wondering about her lack of letters as of late.

I'm still not used to mid-20th century propriety yet so forgive me if this is too...descriptive. Memories of 2018 and medical training have left me unable to deal well with euphemisms.

We had a miscarriage.

Against all possible odds we found out we were pregnant sometime in August of this past year. I'm not sure what she's told you, not sure you understand how miraculous that truly was. We were hesitant at first, didn't even tell our friends, tried not to talk about it, even amongst ourselves but we were overjoyed. Adjusting to life here has been...difficult. Amy tries, she tries so hard but I know sometimes, maybe nearly all the time she yearns for home. This would have been such a bright spot in our lives, such a turning point. We so badly wanted a child.

Then a little over a month ago Amy started cramping and before we could even get to the hospital...well, it was too late.

God, should I even be telling you this? I don't know. I'm in fog myself. I'm a bit devastated. But it's like we're grieving separately. She stays in our bedroom, she sleeps most of the day. I'm at work seeing patients. When I get home we eat, mostly in silence, she stays up all night listening to the radio or the phonograph. We're just out of sync. I see her sometimes rereading your letters. She'll have paper and pad laid out in front of her but it's like she can't remember how to do it anymore. She doesn't know how to write back.

It reminds me of when she first arrived. I don't know if she's told you about that so pardon me if I'm repeating things. She was absolutely despondent and in such a deep depression I didn't know if I'd ever reach her. She barely moved, sir. She'd spend all day at the cinema, film after film after film, alone in the dark. I wish I could take her away from here even if it were only for a little while but it's impossible. We can't even leave this damn city, we can't take a break. We are forever stuck in Manhattan.

I've been looking for a psychiatrist, since she won't talk to me I thought she might like to speak to someone else. I'm wary, you understand. I'm wary of everything here. I know too much. I know how backwards everything is, if you'll pardon me. I worry they may do more harm to her than good.

Anyways, I suppose that's all from my end. Amy has spoken of you so often and so fondly I feel as though I know you as well. I wasn't travelling with she and the Doctor when she met you. I wish I had been. I regret being denied the opportunity to meet such a good man. Perhaps we can rectify that in the future.

Take care of yourself.

I hope the next letter you receive is from Amy and not me.

And if you're a praying man, sir, I ask that maybe you spare a kind word or thought for my wife. Neither of us are religious but...

Anyways, Happy Christmas, sir, to you and yours.

Rory.


	8. December 9, 1942

**Supplemental: Archival Records **  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

_Journal Entry for the 9th of December 1942_

Dear Doctor,

The psychiatrist Rory has me seeing had at least one good idea. He suggested that I start a journal. When I told him I was rubbish at keeping journals he said think of it as a letter. Address it to someone you miss, someone you trust, someone who always listened to you, what you had to say and who you feel would, if they could, listen now.

Who else would I choose but you?

A little over six weeks ago I miscarried on my bathroom floor. It was after 11 in the evening. I started cramping, it felt a lot like it did when I went into labor with Melody but it was too soon. I shook Rory awake. I pulled back the sheets and saw the blood. There was nothing to do, even if for a second I had entertained that there was, I could tell from the look on Rory's face...

He called an ambulance but so many doctors have been pressed into military service we knew there'd be a wait. All we could do was lay down some towels.

It was, I think, the worst moment of our lives.

When it was done... Rory wrapped... (Curators Note: THE FOLLOWING TEXT HAS BEEN REDACTED BY MRS. AMELIA POND WILLIAMS)

I don't want to talk about that.

After it was over, I think I went into shock. Rory picked me up and put us both into the tub. He ran a bit of water and I sat between his legs, pulled back against his chest and we cried. I've never heard Rory cry that hard before. He kept telling me he loved me, that we'd be ok and that we'd get through this and that he was so, so sorry. I don't think I was able to answer him.

The ambulance came and they took me to the hospital. They admitted me. Rory never left my side but once they'd cleared me I wanted to go back home. I didn't want us to have to be there a moment longer. I think they thought his behavior with me was a little strange. He climbed into the hospital bed and he never let me go. I don't think men of this time are as openly affectionate as Rory. I treasure him for that and a million other reasons.

When we got home I told him I wanted to see River, desperately. Then, nearly just like that, she was there. It was before I wrote this but I still think it means maybe you're reading, maybe you sent her. If so, thank you.

I was sleeping when she arrived but I awoke to hear Rory murmuring softly in the other room. I heard my name. I heard the word blood. Then I heard Rory start to sob. River's voice;

Oh, Rory, I'm so sorry, I had no idea.

You didn't know why?

He told me to come, so I came. I'm so sorry, Rory.

Dad. Please, call me Dad. Now more than ever. If that vortex manipulator of yours isn't safe you shouldn't risk it. We couldn't bear-

Shhhh, Dad, where's Mum?

In the bedroom, she wanted to see you, we both did.

Come with me.

So they came. My daughter and my husband. They both climbed into bed with me and we wrapped our arms around Melody. I don't know how long we stayed like that. It felt nice to be a family, if only for a moment.

When you were born, I told you, you would be very, very brave. I told you I loved you. And I told you your father was coming to save us. And every word of that was true.

I know, Mum, I know.

I held you and I nursed you. And your dad held you and he cried. And the Doctor held you and talked to you and you talked to him because he speaks baby, or so he claimed.

She didn't stay long. Though I suppose nothing would have been long enough. I think perhaps, Doctor, I wasn't meant to have children. Or perhaps I was meant to have them but they're not meant to stay. Two of them now, slipped through my fingers.

Keep my baby safe, Doctor. Look after Melody. Let her look after you.

P.S.

Our second child was a girl, too.

We didn't give her a name.

We love you, Doctor.

-Love Amy


	9. December 12, 1942

**Supplemental: Archival Records **  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

Journal Entry for the 12th of December 1942

Dear Doctor,

It's 2:17 AM and I hate you.

This is the journal entry where I beg you to come back for us. The entry where I say, to hell with New York. The entry where I tell you take a train or a bus or a car to see us and think, think, think about how to break us out of here. This where I tell you to please don't think of us as a noble loss, as having stoically accepted our fate. We haven't, we want to come home. There's nothing I want more than to be in my bed, with Rory on the TARDIS or safe and sound in Leadworth or London. I want this nightmare to stop and you can stop it. You're in a time machine, every moment is now. Every single moment. Time can be rewritten and don't you tell me it can't.

How could you leave us like this? How could you just give up? You told me you burned up a sun to say goodbye to one of your other friends. Aren't Rory and I worth that? Can't you smash a wall, mess up a timeline, destroy a sun or two for us? Don't you love us?

I promise I'll be a good girl. I promise I won't get into any trouble. I promise I won't grow old. I don't like endings either.

Please Raggedy Man.

Please.

Love,

Amy

P.S.

I don't hate you.


	10. December 13th, 1942

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

Journal Entry for the 13th of December 1942

Dear Doctor,

You would be proud of me. I've managed not to bite this psychiatrist even though he's positively begging for it. Rory thinks it's coming to some good but I disagree. I'm tired of talking about what happened, I'm talked out. Talking never fixes anything. Talking and remembering never raised the dead.

Well...except that one time.

I think that maybe if I could see it clearly, winter in Manhattan might be beautiful, but I can only see the muck and the dirt and the fear in everyone's eyes. We're still over 2 and 1/2 years away fromt he end of the war, though Rory and I are the only ones who know it. I haven't revealed anything to Edwin by the way. See, I still follow your rule. I still try and preserve these bloody timelines for all the good it does.

Rory will most likely be a doctor for all intents and purposes by mid 1943 if not sooner. How do you like that? Both my boys, doctors.

I miss him. He works hard, long hours and when he comes home we're like strangers. I hate myself for what I think sometimes. Why isn't he as upset as I am? Why is he ok? Didn't she matter as much to him. That's horrible, I'm an awful. awful person but still...I just can't have him touch me without wanting to crawl out of my skin. I hope he never reads this. But, it's like we've forgotten how to be Amy and Rory. Like I said, I miss him.

I'm sorry for what I wrote yesterday. I'm frustrated and angry and lonely and sad. I could never hate you.

Can you hear my voice when you read my letters? if you are reading them that is. Maybe River showing up was just coincidence, maybe these letters just end up in the void.

Maybe this is just me talking to myself.

But I like to imagine you, standing there at the console, tall and handsome, wearing _my_ glasses as you read my terrible handwriting. Or maybe Edwin transcribed everything. I think perhaps I'll ask him not to, I don't want to just be a print out to you. I want you to know when you touch this paper that I touched it too.

I'm not the only one who's angry. I've caught Rory, quite recently just staring off into the distance, his brow furrowed. We have a spectacular view of Central Park and sometimes he just gazes out as he drinks his coffee. I wonder what he's thinking but I'm afraid to ask. I don't like being afraid to talk to my husband. He probably feels the same way about me. But I can feel his frustration, it's palpable.

I quit my job. I know, what else is new? Amy the screw up. So when I'm not in bed I just put on my coat and wander about the city. I stopped in a shop and picked up a few Christmas presents and even got a little notebook for Rory. Maybe he should write his feelings down too. What if that turned out to be the only way we could communicate anymore, trading journals? A bit like you and River, except with an undercurrent of seething animosity? Hahaha.

You don't think he'd leave me, do you?

Why shouldn't he? God, Doctor, did he really wait 2000 years for this?

-Love,

Amy

**Authors Note: Thank you guys so much for reading and especially those of you who are so faithfully reviewing. My1alias, you deserve a big bouquet of virtual roses for all your support! Thank you so much. I know this is a departure from what I typically write on here and I'm not sure how well it's going over. I dunno, maybe it's boring. But I kinda like it. I tweaked the title and the summary a bit to hopefully draw a few more folks in but we'll see. There's still a long way to go yet so who knows what might happen. Again, thank you all very much.**


	11. December 15, 1942

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Christmas Card Addressed To Mr. and Mrs Edwin Bracewell.**

15 of December 1942****

  
Dear Edwin and Dorabella,

I'm sorry for not having written sooner. I've been a bit under the weather lately but it's nothing serious. I shudder to think how I made you worry. I expect things are well with you two and I look forward to more of your letters. I hope against hope that you and she may spend a quiet and Happy Christmas together.

Things here are wonderful. Rory and I are fantastic as we frantically get ready for the 25th. We've got the house all decked out with a big ridiculous tree and decorations. We've got a lot of presents and toys to drop off at the Salvation Army.

I'm so looking forward to Christmas and the New Year!

Happy Christmas, my friend!

Love,  
Amy


	12. December 25, 1942

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

Journal Entry for the 25th of December 1942

Dear Doctor,

I lied to Edwin.. I told him everything was fine because I didn't know what else to say. It seems I can't talk to anyone but you. I'm not sure what that means.

Happy Christmas, Doctor.

The last Christmas we all three spent together was one of the best of my life. You, showing up at our door, out of the blue, literally. You really didn't think we'd set a place for you? We set a place for you everyday.

I _still _set a place for you.

We never talked about what happened afterward. After dinner, dishes, dessert, after we begged you to stay, just for a while. Were you embarrassed? Did you regret it? Do you think about it, ever? The three of us, making love under the fairy lights strung through the railings of the headboard in our bedroom. Murmuring declarations of affection and love amidst soft whispers of "Happy Christmas". You snuggled with us and I fell asleep with your arms around me, nestled against your chest, and Rory's arms around you. Your heart beats lulled me to sleep.

You kissed us both goodbye the next morning. You lingered in the doorway and we begged you to stay again, hoping you would, knowing you wouldn't.

It's Christmas night. I'm going to try and fight the insomnia once I finish this entry and sleep alongside Rory. We had a nice day. I made a turkey, we ate quietly and opened presents. Rory got me a puppy, silly Chocolate Lab. He gave it to me only after a string of caveats like; "This isn't to replace..." and "I just thought you might like..."

I do like him but we haven't picked out a name yet.

Rory and I took him for a walk under the stars tonight. It was quiet and lovely, crunching through the snow, looking at the Christmas lights. Rory tried to get me to look up at the stars but I can't anymore. It's too painful. You gave me the stars but they're gone for me now. For me the night sky is all black.

We came home and all three of us warmed ourselves by the fireplace. I kissed Rory. He's kissed me everyday of course but this may be one of the first times in a long time I've kissed him back.

I want things to be ok.

He does too.

Goodnight Doctor,

Happy Christmas.

We love you beyond anything.

Love Amy and Rory.


	13. December 31-January 1st 1942-1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

Journal Entry for the 31st of December 1942/ 1st of January 1943

Dear Doctor,

I'm so scared. I fear I might have run Rory off.

Everything started off so nicely. I told him I wanted to spend a quiet New Years Eve at home. I wanted to leave 1942 behind us and everything bad that had come with it. When he got home I made sure I was wearing his favorite dress. I fixed dinner, dessert, I put on our favorite record. We danced in the living room. I even laughed. I don't know how long it's been since I've laughed. I let him take me to bed. I let him undress me and a part of me wanted him. I truly did. But the rest of me started to feel sick. I said "Stop." really quietly at first. He didn't even hear me. Then I practically shrieked it and he pulled back so suddenly, looking as though he didn't quite recognize my face.

"Amy...?" he ventured. That was all. He just said my name. Amy. But I was suddenly filled with so much rage and hurt and anger that I slapped him. Even now I don't really understand why.

I screamed at him; "You don't even care!" And when his face started to break I wanted to take it all back.

For the first time ever, he yelled back at me. "I lost her too, Amy! It wasn't just you, I lost them both, right along with you!"

And he's right of course. I know he's right, now and I knew he was right then but I couldn't say anything. He just stared at me, so wounded. Then he said; "You won't look at me. You won't talk to me. You won't let me make love to you! You won't let me share this with you. We can't even grieve together!"

And then he said it, the words that had been sitting between us for almost five years. "Sometimes I think you regret coming back with me."

But it's not true. You know that, you were there. I made my choice, I chose Rory and I always always will. He's my life, Doctor. I made my choice. I think I'd die without Rory.

I think I'd die.

He left after that. He dressed and put on his shoes and coat and hat and left without another word.

What if he doesn't come back?

I think I might be losing my mind.

**4AM New Years Day**

He came back. Drunk, stumbling in and smelling vaguely of gin and vomit. He never could hold his liquor very well. He fell in the kitchen and I helped him up and put him to bed.

There was lipstick on his neck.

Happy New Year, Doctor.

Love,

Amy.


	14. January, 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Mr. Rory Arthur Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

8th of January 1943

Amy gifted me this notebook for Christmas. Leather Bound, gold edged pages. It's the kind of book that looks like it's for a far more important life than mine but perhaps she was on the right track when she encouraged me to write down my thoughts. I kept a journal once, it only seemed prudent when I realized I had 2000 years of history ahead of me to live through but after awhile, you realize it's not the time, it's the hours with which you fill them. There weren't hours to fill without Amy. There still aren't.

Which is not to say I don't keep myself busy. I did then, I do now. I think I may break some sort of record for the time it's taking me to finish medical school. But it isn't easy. It's hard to hold my tongue sometimes. Day after day I see children ravaged by polio. I tend to people I have to put in iron lungs except I can't since because of the war there's a terrible shortage. Polio which to me only existed in a book, a vanquished foe in black and white photography or that at best only festered in 3rd world countries. There was an devastating outbreak in Brooklyn, less than 30 years ago and it returns with a vengeance somewhere in the country nearly every summer and autumn. We're 14 years away from a widely availabe polio vaccine. The epidemics of these coming years will be swift and brutal and my heart sinks when I think of it.

I'm always the most eager to see these patients though, to help as best I can. Polio is still not fully understood and since I was, of course, immunized as a child there's no fear of my getting infected. They need a kind hand, a smile, someone who isn't afraid of them and I do my best to provide that.

Typhoid is rampant, mostly due to conditions so unsanitary they make my skin crawl and have me fearing for my patients every second. In this time scientists are still mulling over the role infection plays in burns. Sometimes I feel as though I'm living in the Dark Ages. of course, I really did live through the Dark Ages...

I suppose that's one of the reasons why this has been, at times, easier for me than Amy. I've seen the cycles of this planet, I watched the ebb and flow of war and peace, illness and health, brilliance and ignorance. It will circle and circle and circle, what had happened once will happen again and all we need do is hold on. I had hoped she and I would hold onto each other.

I lived through the Plague of Athens, Antoinine, and Justinian, the Black Plague of the 14th century, smallpox, chorlera, influenza, typhus, measels, tuberculosis, leprosy, malaria and yellow fever. I have seen death. I have smelled it. I have wallowed it and had my supper next to it. I have helped people from the jaws of it and held their hands as they eased into it. I've become a one man triage center because I can tell whether or not you will live or die by your scent, your complexion, your speech, your eyes. I don't even think I fear it anymore. I only fear losing Amy. There used to be only one thing to lose Amy to, death, some sort of fatal accident while running round with the Doctor. Now, there's this melacholy and what I sometimes fear may be madness.

This is my second time living through World War II. I didn't fight the first time. My only concern was for protecting the Pandorica. I shouldered it out of London during the Blitz. So strange to think that while I was here in Manhattan, in some dead, un-cataloged universe in 1941, I'm also there, moving her away from the bombing. This time, if they call me to fight I'd have no choice but to go. And while I'm in a strange way less concerned about this body than the other one I still need to protect Amy. How can I leave her here alone? And I still assume we can't ever leave Manhattan, at least that's what I took the Doctor to mean. I hope we never have to find out. I hope it won't come to that.

She thinks I cheated on her on New Years Eve. We talked about it, she said she believed me but the suspicion is still there in her eyes. I didn't. I went to a local pub and got drunk and a rather amorous and similarily inebriated woman grabbed me and kissed me at midnight. The only person I've been with anyone other than Amy since we were 16 was the Doctor and that involved all three of us. Twenty two years I've been faithful to her and if you count my auton life we could measure it by centuries.

I needed to get drunk that night, when she pushed away from me like that, when she accused me of not caring...I didn't know what else to do. I say this as though it's resolved now. It isn't. We're still not back to normal, we're still not where we should be.

I worry we're still drifting apart.

Or rather she's drifting from me, all I can do is follow.


	15. February 22, 1853

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Personal Correspondance From Melody Williams/Prof. River Song  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

22 of February 1853

Dear Mum,

As a veteran time traveller, I have to imagine you barely blink at the idea of getting a letter from your daughter posted March of 1851 and it's one of the many things I love about you.

I'm not really supposed to be doing this. In fact, if the Doctor knew, I imagine he'd be furious, but the truth is the Doctor doesn't _need_ to know everything. Nor does he _know_ everything.

He misses you both by the way. He and I spend our moments together when time and tide permit. He has a new travelling companion now. Her name is Clara and she has a kind heart, I think she'll keep him in line. So you see, your afterword didn't fall on deaf ears. He isn't alone. She's not a replacement. The Doctor never replaces us, he understands life is too precious and too unique for that. He just moves forward because there's nowhere else to go.

But this letter isn't about the Doctor. It's about you.

The Doctor has an innumerable amount of rules and I have far, far less. I'm much more willing to do what has to be done even if it risks timelines because I won't have the people I love be miserable. Mum, you and Dad are miserable right now. Nevermind how I know, that isn't important.

I pushed you and Dad together once before and if I have to do it again, so be it. Do you know how many tires I had to slash, how many boys I had to threaten, how many dates_ I_ had to turn down just to make the way clear for the two of you to finally see each other for what you were? Half the fights I got into at school in some way involved you lot. But that's ok, that's what I wanted. The two of you belong together and not just because it was necessary to maintain the timeline, complete the paradox and create me, but because you truly love each other.

Mum, my sister is gone. I can't imagine how hard that is to read, to know, to understand, but it's true. And no good can come of you slowly drifting away after her.

You've had to shoulder so much hurt and loss in so few years, more than anyone should. I hope to someday possess the same strength and grace you've shown. I hope someday I can do you proud.

You know, just as I do, the high price of running with the Doctor. You've paid it in full and then some. It can be worth it, but it can damn near destroy. The Doctor's love is destructive, it's not his fault, he doesn't mean it to be. But it is.

I've lived a long time, mum. Not as long as Dad or the Doctor, but I've learned a few things. I've lost a great deal and I've learned to let a great deal go. I've let the Doctor go time and time again and I even had to say goodbye to the two of you. So I hope you don't mind your first born giving you some advice, because here it is.

Go to that little flower shop two blocks from your flat, you know the one and buy a bouquet of cherry blossoms. Cherry blossoms are only with us for a short while. The blossoms open, they reach full bloom within a week and a week later they're gone. The wind or a storm or time, simply having carried them away. But they were here and they deserve to be remembered and the world was sweeter for their having existed.

Go to Central Park, just you and Dad. Hold hands and walk to the center of Bow Bridge. Put your arms around each other and look down into the water, both of you.

Name her.

Toss in the flowers... and let her go.

Then I want you both to remember that stupid party at Bernard Cribby's house. The one I dragged you both to. I told you it would take some of the sting out of thinking dad was gay and might work as a good first date. I think my exact words were; "Christ Amy, you don't have to snog him..._yet_... just dance with the boy!...snog him later!"

I want you to remember how you promised me that I got to choose one song that night and how I bet you I could get Rory to dance. You looked at me like I was barmy when I put on the Macarena, so did everyone else at the party. But Dad started dancing didn't he? In that awkward, sweet way that only Dad can...well, maybe I know one other person who's an awkwardly sweet mover. And then you started dancing, and you were each laughing and smiling and you both moved closer and closer together until by the end of the song there was nothing left to do but kiss.

It was brilliant. It's not every daughter who gets to witness her parents first kiss.

Remember, you promised to give him your days as he promised you his. And you have so many wonderful days ahead of you. It won't all be this dark. I swear to you. But Dad is going to need you soon, maybe more than ever before.

Remember mum, remember how much you loved him then and how much you love him now. Remember how you gave up your entire life in the future, your life with the Doctor...and me, because life means nothing without Rory Williams. Remember. And once you remember let him take you in his arms and kiss you like he did that first time.

Now, this bit won't make sense now, but it will soon;

_Separately, but never together. Together or not at all. You two are the pair-adox._

Just remember it, that's all.

The Doctor sends his love to you across the stars, every star, from their inception to their death. He loves you both, almost as much as I do. I dry his tears, you and Dad dry one another's. That's marriage and marriage is a very, very good thing.

I've enclosed another letter. But you have to promise me something, mum; you cannot open it until 1965. I know, I'm testing the bounds of your curiosity with a 22 year wait but what can I say?

Spoilers.

Love yourself.

Love Dad.

Love,

Melody


	16. April 11, 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**Journal Entry for the 11 of April 1943**

Dear Doctor,

I think maybe I'm on the mend.

I haven't written in a while because I haven't had that much time. I've been a bit busy. I've been out, dare I say, trying to live a bit.

About a month ago I went up to the hospital to see Rory. I think I scared him though I didn't mean to. He rushed over to me, took my hands and asked what was wrong. I said; Nothing, I just wanted to see him and ask if maybe he was free for the afternoon. I wore my best wool dress and my last pair of nylons. I curled my hair, made myself up and even wore my little hat with cherries on it that he liked so much. It was the first time in a long time either of us had seen me look quite so...alive. He seemed surprised, maybe even a little skeptical when I took his hand and squeezed it. I told him to take his time with his patients, I would wait here for him. He looked at me curiously, started to walk away and then doubled back. He kissed me sweetly on the cheek saying; You look lovely. I'll be back as soon as I can.

I read quietly, I've started _The Little Prince _by Antoine de Saint-Expurey, trying to drown out the noises of the hospital. Then I felt guilty. Rory can't drown it out. He lives with it everyday. I waited quietly, nervously, my emotions flaring between tears and stoicism. I was so lost in my own head I didn't even notice him appear at my side; coat on hat in hand, softly calling my name.

You look so handsome. I told him. I don't think I've told you that since we got here, but you look so handsome in these clothes. I put my gloved hand to his cheek and he smiled tentatively.

Are you alright? he asked me.

I said yes.

Fancy a walk, husband?

He smiled in agreement and we set off in the direction of home. We didin't talk much, both of us seemed content to just enjoy the presence of the other. I remembered that's how it was when we first started dating. We could spend an afternoon just up in my room in comfortable silence. From the beginning, Rory and I were beyond words.

He didn't question me when we passed the flat and I appreciated that. He was just going to let this happen and that made me think things would go easier. We turned a corner and a strong chilly breeze surprised us both. He pulled his rm around me protectively then he stopped us and rubbed my arms to warm them.

He tsked tsked as he cinched my coat tighter, straightening my scarf.

You'll catch your death. he chuckled and I smiled at my Centurion.

Your nose is pink. I said with a laugh and tweaked it lightly.

I saw some of the light return to his eyes. There were little wrinkles at the corners when he smiled. We were both growing older, so close to forty, nearly halfway done, I suppose. But we were growing older together and that was the way I wanted it.

I approached the flower shop, we stepped in and I asked the man at the counter if he had any cherry blossoms. I was devastated when he told me they were out of season but; How about some wonderful roses. Surely my young man would be willing to spring for a dozen. I pressed my lips together as I felt myself tearing up.

You like roses, don't you, Amy?

But then, Doctor, there was a voice from the back room. A woman called out that; a strange lady brought in some cherry blossoms just this morning. Said she couldn't use them, she kept one for herself, said that was all she needed and we should keep them for someone else. I tried to offer her something for them but she refused. Take them with my blessing.

Five minutes later Rory and I were leaving, flowers in hand, and I found myself clinging tighter to his arm and at times resting my head on his shoulder.

I asked him; Rory, can we go to the park?

Of course. A walk about the park would be nice.I didn't know you liked cherry blossoms. How did I not know that?

I kissed his cheek rather than answer but as we approached the park I started to explain the gist of Melody's letter. He nodded silently and after awhile I heard him sniffle. When he did speak his voice was soft and hoarse.

I think that's a lovely idea, he told me.

So we did as Melody suggested. We found the Bow bridge and we walked to the middle and stopped. The water was rushing past below us, thick with frost and slush. Rory cleared his throat a few times in an unsuccessful effort not to cry. i didn't bother.

I asked him what we should name her.

Against our better judgement, we had comprised a list of names in those early months. I had to name Melody alone and I'd been so happy he was with me this time.

But none of those early names we'd chosen seemed appropriate now. We listed off a few, huddled closed to each other, staring at the water.

What about Adora? he whispered to me. It means, cherished, beloved, adored.

The moment he said it, I knew it was perfect. I nodded fiercely. We peered down and I heard him take a ragged breath. How did I doubt that he cared, that he was suffering to?

I'm sorry for doubting you. I whispered. And for all the ugly things I said and for not being there for you the way you were here for me.

I know, Amy. I forgave you the moment you said it.

I held the flowers in front of us and Rory cleared his throat again before kissing my cheek.

We're not forgetting her. We'll never pretend she didn't exist. Our baby's name was Adora. he said quietly.

Her name was Adora. I repeated.

Putting his hand over mine, we did a silent count to three and tossed the flowers in. We watched the blossoms get swallowed by the current and rush away.

Rory and I hugged for a long time and I whispered I love you to him over and over and over again, trying to make up for all the times I hadn't said it in the past months.

We walked back home and Rory lit the fireplace and we sat in front of it, drinking hot chocolate and petting the new, excitable puppy. I told him about my journal and how I write it to you. He told me about his. We talked about work and housebreaking the puppy and even what we'll do after the war. What are the 50's going to be like? Good grief what are the _60's _going to be like?! He's lived through it once but not in the States. Whatever happens we'd face it together.

Faces warm, drinks finished and puppy sleeping, I kissed him on the lips and asked if we could go to bed now. He didn't mistake my meaning and soon he was carrying me to our room. He was so gentle, Doctor, so sweet. You remember. We made love in a way that I don't think we have since we arrived. There just wasn't time, life just picked us up and carried us away. This may be the first night we just stopped worrying and running and lamenting and just loved each other.

I fell asleep in his arms. Yeah, I fell _asleep_, at _night_! I'm writing this in the morning, the puppy and I are about to walk Rory to work. It's become a bit of a habit.

I think we might be on the mend, Doctor, at least I hope so.

I love you and miss you,

Amy


	17. April 13, 1943

13th of April 1943

Dear Bracey,

It's me, your long lost mate! How are you doing my friend? I've missed you and thought of you often. I hope you had a wonderful Christmas and a Happy New Year.

I was a bit blue for awhile. I don't really want to get into why. I don't think I would have come out of it had it not been for Rory and Melody. I think I may have the best husband alive. Though I'm sure Dorabella might disagree.

Spring is here, to paraphrase the Doctor, we're finally out of the dark. Rory finished his internship and yesterday he graduated. My Rory. Doctor Rory Williams. I threw him a surprise party with a few of our friends and a cake with a little candy sign on it that said "The Doctor Is In". I've enclosed a few pictures. Oh and that silly little creature with icing on his face is our new puppy, his name is Spartacus. That was Rory's idea and I really like it.

We've been talking about what to do now. He'll probably stay on staff at the hospital until the war ends then maybe open up a private practice and a free clinic. I told him he might want to think of brushing up on obstetrics, there's a hell of a baby boom coming. Lot's of excitable soldiers returning to lots of eager brides. Oops, hope I didn't scandalize you, Paisley.

I've decided maybe I should try my hand at writing...I used to write travel articles in my old life. I have so many ideas, so many tales to tell about my time with the Doctor. I know what I said, why would anybody be interested in stories of whimsy right now. But I think I've changed my mind. Maybe it would be good for people. Maybe it would be good for me, even if no one ever reads them. It will at least keep me busy while I look for a new job.

I've become a bit of a shutterbug. Rory bought me a camera when we first got here and he got me a new one for Christmas, a great, clunky, clumsy, wonderful ancient, brand new thing. I love it! Over the past five years I've filled up six photo albums! I wish I had some of the pictures from before. Pictures of us and the Doctor, my mum and dad, Rory's dad, Melody. We actually have our mobile phones here. Ok, you have no idea what that is...um, it's a small, portable version of a telephone, very, very popular where we came from, almost a necessity. Anyways even the cheapest versions had cameras and sometimes we still snap a few images on that and look at the ones we have saved. Rory shoved my charger in my pocket before we left the TARDIS the last time because I have a habit of letting the battery drain. But I'm so glad he did. Yes, we actually charge our futuristic devices, partly because we have a lot of memories on there and partly because I think we both hope, someday, the Doctor might call.

Anyways, Paisley, life is going well. Very well. I have a lot of hope for the future. All of our futures.

Write back,

I miss you my friend.

-Love,

Amy

**A/N Thank you guys so much for all the reviews and favorites. It really does keep me writing. This is turning out to be a much more detailed project than I had originally thought and I'm doing a lot of research as I sort of awkwardly grasp for accuracy. Thanks for sticking with me, we've got a long way to go still and I'm just grateful we're in it together.**


	18. May 28, 1943

28th of May 1943

My Dear Amy,

We seem to be having the greatest difficulty re-establishing our correspondence and I fear this time it may be my fault. I have sent you no less than 3 letters over the past month and a half and all of them have been returned. The noose of national security tightens, I understand, but my last letter to you was returned to me because, I believe, I made mention of the weather.

In the coming weeks I will be- REDACTED.

Hooray for Doctor Williams! Please pass on my congratulations as well as Dorabella's. I imagine you must be positively bursting with pride. The party looked as though it were lovely and I wish I could have been there to share a piece of cake with you. I had a final lunch with the Prime Minister Tuesday last, before my departure and I took a moment away from serious discussion to show him the picture. I told him in brief detail of how you came to be in our time. He remembered you fondly and along with his most sincere congratulations he asked me to include this bottle of 1923 Scotch as well as his favorite Brandy which he imbibes daily. He believes it fortifies both the body and the mind and as on occasion I have sampled it I can attest to it's quality. When I asked him why Scotch _and _Brandy he replied; "If the young man is married to the incorrigible Miss Pond, he'll need both." I hope you don't take offense, I can assure you he meant it in only the most affectionate manner. He also directed me to add a few of his favorite cigars and then of course he pressed me to press you for information. Ha ha ha. He didn't forget about you however and also in this care package please find several pairs of silk stockings, a few packs of cigarettes, Swiss chocolates bars (I hope they haven't melted!) and a sizeable amount of chewing gum. "War rarities for a rare girl." he said. For my part, I saw the most charming doctor's satchel in a store window and couldn't quite resist purchasing it as a gift for Rory, from Dorabella and I. May he use it in good health.

I am so sorry to hear you were "blue" my dear and am much gratified that you're in better spirits. I admire your spirit, my dear. Hold fast to it and should it falter, draw strength from your husband, he loves you so.

REDACTED  
REDACTED  
REDACTED  
REDACTED

Now, I'm afraid I must go. As I wrote I'm not certain when I'll be settled so it may take awhile for me to obtain clearance to write to you. But perhaps, should things go well or at the very least according to plan we may be able to see one another face to face!

Take care of yourself my dear,

You devoted friend,  
"Bracey"


	19. June 9, 1943

9th of June 1943

Dear Bracey,

I was wondering what had happened and I have to say now I'm even more confused. It looks as though you wrote me at least two pages but they're all blackened out. I remember when I was little, seeing the old propaganda sign; "Loose Lips Sink Ships" and not really understanding what lips had to do with boats. From what I can gather you're planning a trip, perhaps somewhere near Rory and I? Are you coming to the States? That would be so exciting.

I'll never quite get accustomed to the idea of our mail being scoured. Rory wants me to thank you for the booze. I'm not sure either of us have ever had anything so posh, we'll drink it sparingly and think of you. He also wants to pass on his thanks for the satchel. It's lovely and he can't wait to use it. As for the gum, I'm chewing it as I write and Rory and I have been fighting over the chocolate, it's wonderful!

I'm going a bit stir crazy. I'm not accustomed to sitting around so much. There's only so much dusting you can do everyday you know? I've been writing a few of my memories down about the Doctor. But everyday when I walk the streets of Manhattan I see and hear other stories that make me want to put him aside for a moment.

There are so many tales from this time that go untold. Maybe I'm the person to help them get out there. What I do know Bracey is that words, written words persist. They last. And we're all just stories in the end.

I suppose I won't expect to hear from you for awhile. Should I send the letters somewhere else? For now I'll just continue to send them care of Dorabella.

Stay safe and well and write as soon as you can.

Love,

Amy

P.S. Rory wanted to add something. He said he'd slip it in when he took it to post.

Dear Mr. Bracewell,

Rory here. First off, thank you so much for the graduation gifts. I can't quite get my mind around the fact that I'm having a drink courtesy of Prime Minister Churchill. Secondly, thank you for not mentioning to Amy my letter to you December last. She and I went through an unnerving rough patch but we've come out of it stronger than ever.

She tells me you may be visiting the States soon. We have room and room to spare, my friend. Please consider coming to stay with us.

Until next time,

Rory


	20. June 15, 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records **  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Mr. Rory Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

15th of June, 1943

So, I decided to celebrate my graduation from med school in the most unique way I could think of; I got a snip. Yeah, Amy and I talked about it for awhile, actually I'm the one who brought it up. I can't put her through the trauma of another miscarriage. I won't. I don't think either of us could handle that kind of disappointment and upset again so we figured the best thing to do was for me to get a vasectomy. They're a bit disturbingly new in terms of procedure in 1943 but here I sit in bed, knackers encased in ice and feeling relatively fine. I figured I should take the downtime to get back to my journal, I rather missed it.

Amy is walking Spartacus at the moment. I watched her from the window as she and the dog went splashing through puddles. He took off at a run and she had to go dashing behind him, red hair whipping after her like a sail. I dreamt of that hair for 2000 years. Sometimes I worry this is a dream, but on days like today I can just look down at my balls and realize even my subconscious isn't that masochistic.

Two millennia guarding her in a box and the worst time in my life was when we started divorce proceedings.

I've been thinking about that a lot, most likely because of Adora. Those terrible months, moving back home with my dad. Not being able to tell him what was going on, not really _knowing_ what was going on. All I knew was that we had been fighting, every bloody day. Everything I did seemed to set her off and soon it was likewise. I started picking up extra hours at work and so did she, we rarely saw each other, the sex topped long before, then _any _sort of affection was off the table. She kicked me out of bed at one point and somehow I just never returned. I started sleeping on the sofa in the lounge, vegetating to late night telly and infomercials about the worlds sharpest knives. Sometimes I would feel like she was behind me, watching, but when I'd sit up there was no one there.

The final straw came on a rather unremarkable Sunday. I was filling out some forms, insurance, sending in our payments for the next six months. She asked what I was doing, I told her and she scoffed.

Bit ambitious, don't you think?

How do you mean? I'd asked.

You really think we'll be together in six months?

Damn it, Amy, why would you say that?

It's the truth.

Do you not want this to work, is that it? Because if that's the case, just fucking say it.

She'd looked at me, square in the eyes and said slowly; I don't want this to work.

I launched up from my chair, grabbed my jacket and stormed out of the house. We didn't speak gain for two weeks.

As I was leaving, I thought I'd heard her sob, but arse that I was, I didn't turn back.

"Because we both know, we've always known, that. Amy, the basic fact of our relationship is that I love you more than you love me."

Why did I say that? I know why I said it, just to hurt her. I knew it wasn't true. Even if I didn't understand why she wanted a divorce, somehow I knew it wasn't because she didn't love me. She had her chance to escape, numerous times and she could have run with the Doctor forever. I know she loves me but I know she loves him too. And I know something she doesn't know, I know he loves her. Not in the way that he loves all the people he travels with. He _loves _her. He confessed it to me late one night in the kitchen on the TARDIS. I couldn't sleep, he rarely slept and I was teaching him how to make s'mores. He said something, God knows what, it doesn't even matter and I just stared at him. It wasn't what he said it was how he said it.

You're in love with her. I said

He straightened his bowtie, looked away and said;

Is it really that much trouble to call them Some-Mores? It's not _really_ extra work, though I suppose that only invites the question of "some more _what_?" Which could turn into a very long and drawn out conversation about the makeup of graham crackers.

You're in love with her. I repeated.

She's your wife.

That's not an answer.

He turned to me, his eyes dark and sad.

You didn't ask me a question. And I don't think you want to. She's your wife. You're her husband. I am her madcap, alien, imaginary slash best friend. Those are our titles. I am content in that. Your marshmallow is burning.

You act like you're this asexual, man-child, like you never crave companionship. You cover your eyes when she and I kiss. You try to act all nervous and flaily when anything slightly human arises. I used to believe it, but now I know it's an act. Do you think we've just forgotten about Christmas, mate?

I watched him gulp and then pretend to be hard at work on scraping a piece of dried chocolate from the countertop.

No, he said. And _I _haven't forgotten about Christmas. But haven't I complicated your lives enough without presumptuously assuming a place in your bed? Wrecking your marriage?

You assume you'd wreck it?

He smiled to himself bitterly.

I have before. Even wrecked my own...

I wasn't used to him speaking so candidly.

You're right, Rory, it is a bit of an act. But you have to admit it might take some of the shine off if you saw the notches on my bedpost, the wedding rings left on my nightstand.

I think you're lying. Mind you, I don't think it's intentional but you move between extremes. One minute you're upstanding God-Doctor the next you're a dangerous, adulterous sex fiend. I don't think so. I think the truth is somewhere in between. There's good and bad. Pardon me, but I think it's all a bit more human than that.

Human? Are we insulting one another now?

You know what I mean. You're talking about complications but things were complicated before we had sex, Doctor. They just got _more _complicated.

Another long stretch of silence.

I don't regret it. he said. He tentatively reached out and touched my hand. Though I was a bit shocked that you and I...that _we_-. he trailed off. Shocked but happy. He concluded after a moment.

You'd be surprised how fluid sexuality starts to seem after 2000 years. So, you wanted to then? To stay with her?

He'd quirked an eyebrow, bemused that I didn't understand.

Oh, Rory. I have two hearts, you know. That's one for each of you.

He walked towards where I sat then leaned over and kissed me. It was slow and sensual and I felt myself giving in to him the way I had on Christmas. Then standing back he ran his thumb over the corner of my my lips.

You had a spot of chocolate there. Don't worry about cleaning up, I'll take care of it in the morning, love.

And he started to walk away.

Doctor. I called after him.

He stopped and glanced back.

I don't regret it either. I said. None of it.

He smiled at me, softly, nodded and then disappeared.

So, that was how I discovered the Doctor loved my wife...and me as well. What a mess we'd made and now, we'd never have the opportunity to clean it up. He and I had gone from competitors, to adversaries, to friends, to lovers and back to friends again. I suppose we all loved each other.

When the Angel sent me back, the first thing I noticed was that it was nighttime. One moment I was standing in the bright sunlight in a graveyard, the next I was in near pitch black somewhere around 59th street in Manhattan. It took me a few minutes to realize it wasn't actually nighttime, it was just that the sky was filled with clouds, dark ominous clouds like I hadn't seen in years. The wind was howling, nearly knocking me off my feet. The rain poured down from above me and in a second I was drenched, people hurried past, all of them looking as alarmed as I felt. I took refuge in the nearest building which happened to be a movie theater. I slumped in a corner surrounded by the smell of popcorn and frightened voices as the enormity of the situation overtook me. I was back, in 1938, alone, again. We hadn't escaped the paradox, we hadn't beaten the Angels and now I had gone and left Amy alone. I put my hands over my face and didn't really worry about how I looked, strange man in incongruous clothes with curious hair weeping in a movie theater. It didn't matter after a moment anyway as the power went out and we were all plunged into darkness. I stayed there the night, I don't think I spoke to a soul and at first light I set out. The streets were flooded and a few police officers told me to get to higher ground but I didn't care. I don't think I'd ever felt that level of despair, not since I'd shot her all those years ago. I was wandering, walking, not caring and then I saw it. That flash of red hair, sailing, whipping around like welcoming flames. I cried out; AMY! and she turned. She spotted me and rushed towards me and then she was in my arms. She'd come back for me, she said. She'd landed in the storm, she couldn't see, couldn't hear, someone had grabbed her and pulled her into a restaurant to wait it out. But once the worst was over she set out on foot, she said she didn't know why, she just needed to get out. I hugged her so tight I thought I might break her.

You came back for me. I said.

I'll always come back for you. She responded. No matter how far they might have taken you back, I'd come looking for you and I'd find you. You won't get rid of me Rory Williams. You'll never shake me and I'll never let you go, not ever, ever again.

Amy and I survived my deaths and hers and a 2000 year separation, a brief affair with an alien and then the 1938 storm that came to be known as The Yankee Clipper the worst hurricane the Northeastern Atlantic Coast had seen since 1635.

I dreamt of her flaming hair. I dream of her flaming hair. It sustains me, it burns me. Amy and I are beyond time, we can survive anything. That's not arrogance. That's not me daring the gods to reign down the thunder. I simply think of it as fact.

We can survive anything, when don't we?

**A/N: Please, review, let me know what you think. I've got a long, long, long way to go, about 4 and a half more decades and I'm starting to feel the _weight_ of it all. Hope you guys are enjoying it so far.**


	21. July 18, 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records **  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

18th of July, 1943

Dear Doctor,

I was never very good at budgeting and I find myself to be total rubbish at rationing.

As I mentioned earlier to save on petrol Rory walks to work and Spartacus and I join him. I usually take the car to our local board for a required tire inspection every few months. Before you can get your gas ration you have to prove that you need a car and that you don't have anymore than 5 tires. They gave us an"A" sticker for the windshield which means we get four gallons of petrol a week. Would you believe there's actually a war time speed limit? They recommend you drive at 56 KM per hour or as they say here "Drive Under 35 (mph) it's the Victory Speed". You can imagine we use the car pretty sparingly.

I've gotten hooked on kraft macaroni and cheese in all its powdery cheesy goodness all over again. I can get two boxes with only one stamp and sometimes Rory and I just have a bowl of that. For all the things we've lost some things like that are remarkably the same. Mac and cheese and a cold Coke can make for a pretty good evening. I picked up a copy of the American Woman's Cook Book which has a lot of helpful advice in dealing with the inevitable shortages. A lot of the recipes are a bit naf, but you make do.

I do a lot of babysitting for the women in the neighborhood, We've got the space and I have the time and I love kids. I thought it might be hard at first and sometimes it is, sometimes I feel that pang, but it's ok. It wasn't meant to be and I am a very, very lucky woman. Rory and I will just be the cool Aunt and Uncle of the neighborhood. Of course I do it for free, all I ask in return is, if they're willing, the women tell me their stories. So many of them are young brides or single mothers, some of them their men are overseas, some of them are struggling to take care of wounded soldiers who've returned home. I offer them money here and there when they'll take it, you have to be so careful about wounding peoples pride, but Rory and I don't need it. River saw to it with her investments for us and the bank accounts, that combined with Rory's paycheque and we'll be comfortable for all the years ahead. Sometimes the ladies are more willing to take it from me, along with a pie or some extra ration coupons. Sometimes it's easier to take it from Rory. He'll hold their hands and with that warm voice and those kind eyes he slips the bills into their palms. He soothes them, tells them it's not charity, it's what friends do for each other. They tear up a little and he'll smile and touch their cheek.

I love that man so much.

It occurs to me, they see him as a bit of an elder figure, not quite a father, but more of an older, wiser brother. God, Doctor, but we're getting old. In a few months Rory and I will turn 39. Wasn't it just yesterday we were newlyweds?

Anyway, their lives are so interesting, their joys and sorrows and struggles. They're happy and sad and hopeful and fearful and they're angry, they're so angry sometimes and they don't have anyone to talk to, so they talk to me. I always ask them if I can quote them and I'm perfectly happy to leave it anonymous or change a name. But I tell them you're in this war too, we all are. What do the signs we pass every day say, "Do your part!" "Make do with less, so they have more!" but no one ever asks. "How is it going, all that making do with less? Are you ok? Are you tired? Are you hungry? Are you lonely? Are you scared?"

I don't know what I'm going to do with it all. I don't know if anyone would be interested, at least not yet, but I know it's valuable. They're valuable and I'm a writer, so I should be writing. I just want to be useful. I want you to be proud of me. I want _me _to be proud of me.

Haven't heard from Bracey in awhile. I'm not sure what's happening but I admit I'm worried. They're reading our mail, specifically his, very closely and I can't help but think he may be involved in something secretive and possibly dangerous. Rory has an almost encyclopedic knowledge of what's happening, down to the smallest detail. I can give him any date, he thinks for a moment and rattles off precisely what's happening and where. He says he had a few thousand years to live history _and_ brush up on it. His theory is that Paisley is heading for Canada with Churchill to something called the Quebec Conference. I pressed him for a bit more information but he only answered me with, "Let's wait and see." Which I interpret to mean something bad is happening. I assume you know.

Rory's back to work. He had a vasectomy. He did that for me, or rather as he says, he did it for us. We'd gone back to using condoms like horny teenagers but it just wasn't working, plus both of us swear they're thicker now than in our day. We just wanted to be together, nothing in between us, no latex, no stress, just Rory and me. And now it is. Just us, Rory and I, mirroring each other again, both of us now as infertile, as rocky, barren ground. That sounds bitter, maybe more bitter than I feel.

Guess that's all from this end. It's time for Casey, Crime Photographer. It's one of Rory and my favorite radio shows.

We love you Doctor.

We hope you can feel that, even when we're so far away from one another.

I do miss the running, the fighting, the quick thinking. But I miss the quiet times too. I wish you and Rory and I could just sit in front of the fireplace, have a kiss and cuddle, turn on the radio and be a family.

Love across the stars, Doctor.

-Your Amy and Rory

**A/N: Please spare a review if the mood strikes you and thanks for reading.**


	22. August 23, 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records **  
**Marker: Rough Draft - Correspondence Regarding Draft Board Appointment**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

23 of August 1943

Dear Mr. Wellings,

Firstly, let me thank you for the well wishes following my graduation. I am very excited that I will have the opportunity to serve both Bellevue, which I have come to love, as well as my community. I could not possibly have succeeded were it not for your support and mentorship and I remain in your debt.

I am flattered that you would consider me as a replacement for the late Dr. Miller on the draft board. I respected him and on many occasions sought his wisdom and counsel. However, I must regretfully decline. As you are no doubt aware, I am only just now settling into my work at the hospital. In addition to this I have been volunteering my time at the free clinic as well as making occasional pop by's at the VA. At this time, my schedule is rather full to accept such a daunting and important position.

I thank you for your consideration as well as your faith in my abilities.

Yours most sincerely,

Dr. Rory A. Williams


	23. August 24, 1943

_**A/N When I first started this I had imagined I'd focus mostly on Amy and Bracewell, I hadn't even really considered journal entries or using Rory as much more than a character Amy mentions. But it's been so exciting to bring him more into this. I love his voice and true to my nature I'm falling a bit in love with this fictional character. I just figure he has so many stories to tell, so many incidents that have shaped his character, facets to his personality that even Amy may not yet know about. I'm really looking forward to bringing him and his love for Amy more into this.**_

**Supplemental: Archival Records **  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Mr. Rory Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

24th of August 1943

A few thousand years ago today, I stood on a battlefield under orders of my Lord Honorius in a useless attempt to defend the Holy City. Alaric was coming and he was relentless, the sack of Rome was inevitable. And still I ordered some thousand men forward to their fated deaths to fight the Visigoth horde.

It isn't easy to stay out of history's way when you're rather immortal. Ruaidhri, my Celtic name that I was known by then, rose rather rapidly through the ranks of the legion. Every now and then I'd have to fake my own death or pretend to be my own brother or son. A legend grew around my name whether I wanted it or not. This in addition to the rumors of the lone Centurion and the box he guarded.

410 AD was neither the first nor the last time I had sent men and in some instances boys into battle. I fought alongside them, I held them as they died and informed their families that they lived honorably and died bravely. But before that I was often in charge of recruiting, of choosing the best and brightest and strongest.

It was hell.

I have no desire to do it again. Frankly the idea of being on the draft board horrifies me. I've done my bit for Queen and country, King and country, Emperor and country, Caesar and empire. I'm an old military man who wants nothing more than to put those days behind me, live quietly, adore my wife and perhaps to somehow make up for the lives I added as grist to the war machine. And the lives I took.

Amy asked me today, for the first time if I'd ever killed anyone. She'd been talking to one of the mothers she sits for. Apparently her husband is in Tripoli and his letters home reveal he's distraught at what he's had to do there. He's worried about who he's become.

I don't blame him, he should be. I suppose it made her think about me.

Holding her in my arms last night, I stroked Amy's hair and tried to think of how best to answer. In the end it came down to a simple, "Yes."

She wanted me to elaborate and I will, some day.

Instead I told her, I became a nurse because of her relentless childhood infatuation with the Doctor. Hoping some of her love for him might transfer to me. At least initially that was the reason. Then I came to realize I loved it.

I became a Doctor, because I owed something to this world. Because in protecting the life most precious to me I had a hand in the taking of so many others.

The Doctor isn't the only one with a multitude of sins.

He isn't the only one who wants to atone.

He isn't the only one who wants to be forgiven.


	24. September 1, 1943

1st of September, 1943

Dear Amy,

Greetings from the Great White North! I can tell you that Dorabella and I are a mere 600 or so miles away from you and Rory. We have embraced our pioneer spirit. At the behest of the Prime Minister I have been asked to participate in a new planned community in Chalk River, Ontario created specifically for the war effort. At the moment we are some of the first arrivals and nearly the only ones here but within months this will be a bustling mini-metropolis. Other than stating that my work involves research I really shouldn't go into any further details.

However, Dorabella and I are happy to be here. It is the first trip to North America for both of us and we look forward to exploring. It is actually lovely here. There's not much to do in these early days and we have spent a good deal of time hiking, taking pictures and introducing ourselves to locals. I've included a few pictures.

In my free time I once again returned to the book you sent me. The adventure was so fantastic and I've read it through several times over the years. All of you, all four of you were, are so very brave. Perhaps I just needed to be inspired by a spot of courage. I find myself picking it up when I need a reminder that absolute good does exist in the universe, even if the Doctor is so far away.

We would very much like to visit you and Rory before years end. Perhaps on Christmas Holiday should circumstances permit?

I am happy to hear you are writing again, my dear. Perhaps one day soon I will see your byline in a newspaper. Amy Pond-Williams, intrepid reporter! Did I ever mention how fascinating I find it that you style yourself by both your maiden and married name. How very modern! Though I assume all young girls do the same in your time.

You sound as though you are in fine spirits, my dear Amy and I hope that continues in perpetuity. If and when you do decide to write about the Doctor I would be most interested to read those tales. Perhaps the children you care for might like them as well.

Enclosed please find some pictures of Dorabella and I, our new house as well as the facilities and laboratories which are only now getting their finishing touches. I believe we will do great work here, important work that will make this world a better place.

I look forward to hearing from you soon, my dear.

Take care and send Rory my best,

Yours,

"Bracey"


	25. September 20, 1943

20th of September 1943

Dear Bracey,

They say that the very first rejection letter you get, you frame it because it's supposed to represent something. It's your first attempt, you know? And sure, you got kicked in the teeth a bit right out of the gate but that's ok. That's what's supposed to happen. You can't take it personally. What they don't tell you is what to do after you've gotten your sixthteenth. It's getting a lot harder to be charitable once the rejections reach the double digits. I've really been trying hard to shop around my idea of Women on the Home Front (that's what I'm calling it) but so far no takers. About halfway through, after getting say my seventh patronizing reply that all but started with, "What a cute thing you're trying to do little lady..." I started simply signing my name as A. Williams. Perhaps they'll figure my name is Al! It did change the responses. They became a bit harsher. But not about my writing, that I can take. I was picked apart by some of the best editors in London, I can take a critique. But these were more about the subject matter. Mostly I get, 'no one wants to read about screaming kids and housewives crying over their laundry while men are getting their brains blown out all over the Solomon Islands.' Like I wrote earlier, now might not be the best time for this but I don't care. I'm going to keep trying and hope somewhere out there someone understands that these women have value and that there are people who want to read about them.

I did take your suggestion and I started to tell the children about my Raggedy Doctor. I've never heard them all so quiet and well behaved. They loved it! They loved him. But then again who wouldn't, he's a hero, the best kind of hero. I told them about the first adventure he and I ever had together. How he came to me when I was a little girl. It occurs to me I've never told you that either. He dropped out of the sky when I was seven. Crashed landed the TARDIS into my backyard. He saved me. He saved me over and over and over again and once or twice on the rarest of occasions, I saved him.

I got a bit cynical after the Doctor left. I tried to tell everyone about him, how wonderful he was, how he had saved us all and they just called me crazy. To be quite honest it made me rather mean. Oh, God I was so awful to Rory, I told him the Easter Bunny didn't exist I told him Santa was bollocks. I was a cruel little Scot but he loved me, even then. Anyway, I'm working my way through our adventures. It's nice to remember.

Speaking of Rory he's working a much better shift at the hospital now and even with his work at the clinic I get to see him more often. It's nice to just get back to us, the two of us. We work, you know? We just fit together. I try not to do the math, I try not to focus on the countdown but by my estimate I still have 43 more years with him. I have to tell myself everyday, don't think about it like that. Just enjoy your life. The truth is I only saw his gravestone not my own. Maybe I don't have all those years with him. Maybe I die before him. Maybe I die tomorrow. Who can say?

He's authoring a paper that I'm helping him proof on improved sanitary conditions and the treatment of polio. He's brilliant, that husband of mine. I read his work he reads mine and then we give each other notes. Hopefully we'll both be published someday soon.

I can't believe you're so close! You all must absolutely come see us for Christmas! By my time, well I haven't seen you in nearly 16 years, my friend. 16 years. Time is moving so fast. A planned community you say and all to help win the war? I can't even imagine what that means. I think Rory knows but he won't tell me, he keeps putting me off which of course worries me. He just say, "Amy, let's just wait and see." But that just makes me worry about you, my friend. I know I end every letter this way and I really look forward to the day I won't have to but, stay safe Bracey. Whatever you're doing...stay safe.

Love,

Amy, Rory and Spartacus The Great


	26. September 24, 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records **  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

24 of September 1943

I'm fairly certain that Bracewell is working on the Atomic bomb. The time adds up. When Amy told me he was in Canada a few months back that would place he and Churchill at the Quebec Conference. The postmark of his letter says Chalk River, the home of the first nuclear reactor outside the States, also one of the clusters working on the Manhattan Project. I don't know how involved he is, I don't know what type of research he's doing, but it fits. If Amy says he's a good man then I'm inclined to believe her, she's a fantastic judge of character. Not to mention far be it for me to cast aspersions on a humanoid lifeform, I mean trust me, I've been there. But there is something horribly fitting about Dalek technology having a hand in crafting the most destructive weapon this planet has ever seen. I haven't told Amy because it might not be true, he could simply be a cog in the wheel and I don't want to color how she sees her friend. I could be wrong.

The truth is I have much bigger problems at the moment.

My letter to the committee was not well received. I thought that might happen but the backlash has been rather swift. There isn't a day that goes by that the don't push the idea. I've started leaving the premises at lunch, meeting Amy at a diner or a pub or just sitting in the park by myself lest they ambush me...again. The last time it happened I was standing at the urinal for God sakes. One of them, Grainger is his name, saddles up to me and says "You know Rory, we'll still holding a place for you." It was like something out of a B movie except they're very, very serious.

They want someone respected in the community they say, someone the people will trust, not to mention the need for a doctor to conduct physicals and classify the young men. But I know the real reason. The board looks exactly like what it is, a group of elderly men charged with sending the young off to die. I would, in some way, balance it out for them, make them look a tad less menacing.

I don't want any part of it. But I'm starting to feel like I might not have a choice. There was an implied threat from my administrator revolving around performance reviews which are due soon. Welling isn't above delivering on a threat and he has connections to every major hospital in New York, he'd blacklist me in a heartbeat. Normally I wouldn't care, under normal circumstances I'd tell them to go fuck themselves and if we had to, Amy and I would pull up stakes and go elsewhere. But this is far from normal circumstances there is nowhere else for us to go. On top of all that I'm in the process of writing my paper, and possibly securing grant funding for studies in polio research. I decided why the hell should I wait for Salk when people are dying? I don't want credit for it, I just want this disease to stop.

Not to mention I've heard that our local draft board is miscategorizing...purposefully, just to up their recruitment numbers. In fact we've got a disturbingly high number of 1A's, i.e. those deemed immediately available for service. I don't know what exactly is going on but I see the terror in parents faces when their sons are called. I hear the surety in their voices as they say, "They're going to ship him over." before he's even had a physical.

Maybe I could help. Maybe I could do some good. Or maybe I'm just rationalizing.

I don't even know anymore.


	27. October 12, 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

12 of October, 1943

Dear Doctor,

Rory came home absolutely fuming today. He'd neglected to tell me what had been going on at work but today it became unavoidable. He's essentially being press ganged into joining the draft board. It's actually a bit scary, he said something to the effect of, "Once they brought you into it..." He trailed off, I tried to get him to continue but he waved it away. Apparently he had a big blow up with one of his superiors today.

They sent me home, he said. To cool off. But it's really just to make a decision. My final decision. I saw the papers, Amy. They'll have me removed like that. License revoked, never able to practice medicine again.

Spartacus, the kids and I were so surprised when he burst through the door at half past one. I told the children to draw me their best version of you and the Star Whale and pulled him into our bedroom.

He asked me what I thought we should do. We might have to stay in Manhattan but we sure as hell don't have to stay here. he said. It's a 13 mile island, not big but we don't deserve to be harassed like this! We have money. He said. We don't need for me to work, or at least not there but...

I told him, Wherever you go, I go. If it's best that we move, we move. Whatever, whenever so long as I'm with you.

He relaxed after that, gracing me with a smile.

I love you, Amy. He said.

You could teach. I said. Classical literature, Ancient languages. Latin. Hebrew. Aramaic. Greco-Roman history. Medieval. Anything, you know everything.

He smiled at me.

Amy, I'm not a genius. I'm just an old man who's seen way more than he should.

You're a genius to me. I'm sure River could make up some papers for you. I pressed. Or we could just use the psychic paper she left for us in the safe deposit box. Instant transcripts, letters of recommendation.

But I wouldn't be _helping_anybody, Amy. He said. I could help so many people here. At least I think I could. I could try.

He looked so sad, so forlorn and as we lay on the bed I gathered my husband into my arms.

I don't think they'll be any re-do's for this life, you know? No universe reboots. No almost deaths. This one, I have to live all the way through. I have to get it right. It has to matter, Amy. Do I sound arrogant? I don't mean to, I just have so much I have to... Look at me, thinking I have to change the world. Thinking I _could_. Too much influence from the Doctor, I suppose.

Bollocks, you've always been a good man no one had to teach you. Come on, love. Let's be having a smile, Mr. Pond.

Readymade assumed name, Mr Pond. He said with a sad chuckle. When we ran with the Doctor, we didn't feel it, you know?

I nodded.

You don't feel all that weariness and exhaustion. He continued. But I'm so tired of running, Amy, I'm tired.

Me too. We'll go play with kids, yeah? I suggested. They love their Uncle Rory. Tomorrow, Dr. Williams, you'll tell the board they have their new member. We'll deal with what comes after that, like we always do.

He sighed deeply before nodding.

Five more minutes, ok? He asked closing his eyes as I held him.

Of course.

I see why you hate linear time, Doctor. it draws out like a blade, a blade that more than likely going to cut you at some point. Why don't any of these decisions get easier? I know, I know. I can hear your voice in my head, "Because that wouldn't be life, Pond." Life is complicated and messy and hard, especially human life. You do the best you can. You're _doing_ the best you can."

Did I get it right? Is that what you'd say? I can still conjure your voice up in my head when I need to, I suppose that's pretty lucky. Remember that video I took on my phone, of the three of us swimming on Casperana VI? Rory and I squint over that tiny phone screen and watch it sometimes, just to remember.

We hope you have things to remember us by, too.

Love across the stars Doctor,

Amy


	28. October 19, 1943

19th of October 1943

Dear Amy,

Chalk River swells around us. New families arrive every day, filling the barracks and the little houses. Dorabella and I introduce ourselves to each one and we feel we've made quite a few new friends here. I am keenly aware of what you mentioned early on in our correspondence. My accent does occasionally prove to be a problem but we muddle through, don't we?

I speak almost daily with the Prime Minister though his duties keep our conversations brief. You've no doubt heard that the Germans now occupy Rome and Hitler still supports his old comrade Mussolini. Some of the news we are receiving is even worse than that. All is not dire though, we've taken Bari and the Americans have secured Sardinia. Corsica and Naples are free.

But life is difficult enough without me bogging you down with bad news, dear. How goes the writing? I'm sorry to hear about the rejection letters. I have always been of the opinion that a good tale is a good tale no matter which sex it comes from. Perhaps you might consider contacting some of the newspapers or publishers here. I have taken the liberty of collecting a few names and addresses from several publications and am sending them along.

I had no idea you met the Doctor as such a young girl! How exciting that must have been for you. No wonder you have a mind and a spirit for adventure. I spent only a few moments with him in the grand scheme of things and it left me forever changed. I can only imagine what it did for and to you.

My young Amy, it may seem counterintuitive if not downright impossible as we struggle through this world covered in ash and misery and horror but do not preoccupy yourself with death, Rory's or your own. It only eats away at the life you're trying to live. I have my own dark days as well. As you mentioned in your first letter to me, I may in fact be immortal. Even if not, I am more than likely so long lived I will surpass all my friends, all those I care about, you and my dear Dorabella. When I think of my future I sometimes see a long corridor of darkness. I soothe myself with the thought that that is the future _not_ the present and I should be most grateful with what I have and the second chance I was given by you and the Doctor. I comfort myself with the knowledge that come what may I shall have all my memories to keep me company.

You should live as the Doctor would want you to live as I imagine he wants us all to live. Boldly and fearlessly, a charge I think you are handling with aplomb. If anything you and Rory should love each other harder, more fiercely, appreciating every moment together.

Speaking of Rory I wish him every success in his endeavors. One can scarcely imagine an end to the scourge that is polio but I will cheer when that day comes.

Neither of you should worry about me or about our work here. What we do here, should we succeed, is for the good of everyone.

I apologize for the brevity of this message but I've been appointed temporary head of research and my free time has been somewhat truncated. I look forward to your next letter.

Love,

Bracey


	29. November 11, 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

11th of November 1943

In the end I really had no choice. They effectively threatened me into service and the threats worked. I didn't tell Amy, no reason to scare her. Allied forces or not it was mentioned in no uncertain terms that a Brit and Scot no matter how American they "claimed" to be were likely to fall under suspicion if they didn't do their duty.

"No family to speak of Rory," Welling oozed. "No parents, cousins, hardly even any friends. And most of your mail comes from overseas. What would people say if they really started to question you, Rory? If that's really your name. I've been digging and your past...is a curious one, Doctor Williams? Doctor who?"

Christ, the irony of it all. The damnable irony. Are you getting all this, Doctor, wherever you are? I think it would be a right good laugh if it weren't happening to us.

Every morning I sign what is indeed my name dozens upon dozens of times a day on the bottom of little 3 by 5 cards. These little cards effectively sum up someones life or if not their life their worth to this government. Height, weight, age, race, name and address. I sign the bottom of the notification alerting them of their classification and if selected from that moment on they are enlisted men in the United States Army.

Before that I go to work and I talk to Mr. Ostin in the iron lung ward. We discuss his children, his wife and some of the pretty nurses. Mr. Ostin has no control over his muscles due to the disease attacking his central nervous system. The left side of his face droops where polio has weakened his cranial nerves. He's completely immobile but we talk about the one day where he might be able to play baseball again. He was a shortstop for the Williamsport Grays in the 1930's.

I visit my other patients in the ward then proceed with my daily rounds. I usually work straight on through lunch, going over my notes, updating charts and rewriting my paper. I check the post and wait for news from the grant committee. After lunch I walk five blocks to the local high school gymnasium. I move in and out of lines that snake nearly around the building until I arrive at the front door. There's nothing but noise and activity inside, the smell of sweat and nerves, blood, piss and and endless barrage of questions that float to my ears followed by timid, halting answers.

I take my place at the area cordoned off for physicals. I rate the boys on the silliest of things, jumping jacks, the number of squats and sit ups they could do. Pull ups, shuttle runs and a battery of others. It was nonsense. None of these things would help you in battle, none of them would sharpen your wits, none of them would make you a soldier, but this was the barometer with which I had to judge. I'd fill out their score cards and send them on to the next area. If they failed, they were designated 4-F or something similar and sent home. If they passed it was on to vision tests, hearing tests, blood tests, urine tests and finally what passed as a psych evaluation. Sometimes I did that too, despite my protestations that I was not a trained psychologist.

Have you ever suffered from depression?  
Do you have any enemies?  
Do you like girls?

I asked these young men, the hundreds who came before me these same questions hour after hour day after day. I tried to comfort them, tried to listen to them and in some cases tried to find any reason not to send them. Flat feet? 4F. Asthma? 4F. Brittle bones? 4F. Possible syphilis? 4F. I sent them home, as many as I could and I told them to go to school, find God and join the clergy or just run, but for Christ sakes make it so they never, ever come back here again.

My first day I had more 4-f's, 1-A'a and 1-Y's than our board had seen in the past six months. When questioned I stood by my findings and told them if they didn't want me I'd happily resign. I'm still here.

But some of them I couldn't save. Some of them were solid 1-A's fit for service and whether terrified or filled with that naive confidence only the young possess I signed their cards and sent them off. They were told to bring enough clothing for 3 days and sometimes that was it. They were hustled onto buses and shipped to boot camp that very day. I wonder how many of them knew when they said goodbye to their parents that morning they might not see them again for years, perhaps forever.

My first day on the job I excused myself, stepped out into the alley and vomited. I don't want to be this man again. I don't want to send scared children off to die. But somehow I had wound up here again. Century after century I wind up here. Is that how life works, or is it destiny, was I fated to be caught in this pendulum swing between saving and killing, injuring and healing, life and death. Is that written into my stars if there even is such a thing?

I come home each night, exhausted and mentally destroyed and I'm tended to by the most loving and wonderful wife in the world. She and I are stronger than ever. I need her so much now and I'm glad she's here. I can't imagine doing this alone.

When I can spare a thought, I think about the Doctor. I remember when Amy and I had shoved our ego's aside for our friend, our lover and specifically put into the afterword that he should not be alone. He should never be alone. Stubborn arse that he is, I'm glad he listened. Amy told me about Clara and while for a flash we were both a tiny bit jealous, overall we're happy. He shouldn't have to do this..._life_ alone either. Who could possibly manage it?


	30. November 20, 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records **  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

20th of November 1943

Dear Doctor,

I never said thank you.

You did as I asked, you came back. It's still weird, even after all this time to have new memories crop up in my head, replacing or changing old ones. I remember sitting there on my suitcase, my hands and nose getting cold, staring up at the dawn sky, waiting for you, it never occurring to me that you wouldn't keep your word. Maybe five minutes was different for you. Maybe space time was different than Earth time. No matter what, I just knew you'd be back.

And then, there you were. That lovely sound of the TARDIS, the wind kicking up all about and back came that police box. You flung open the door and rushed towards me. You picked me up in your arms and swung me around. You called me, 'Your Amelia, your dear, sweet, Amelia'. You squeezed me so hard I couldn't breathe and I laughed and said 'You're late, but I don't care! Can we go now? I'm packed. I want to see the inside of your spaceship!'

Now, when I recall, I remember how sad you looked. I asked you, 'What's wrong, Doctor? Is your ship still broken?'

"No, love, not broken. It's fine.

'You look sad.'

"Not sad...just...well, yes actually a little sad. Don't want to start off and finish up by lying to you. Let's get you inside, you'll catch your-...come on, inside with you."

You tried to direct me towards the house but I darted around you and ran to the TARDIS. I pushed the door open and I saw the most wonderful sight I'd ever witnessed. My first view of that big, beautiful lovely console room and the TARDIS we'd one day share.

You went rushing after me, I thought once I stepped inside you'd yank me out. But you didn't. You just put your hands on my shoulders and said.

"So, what do you think?"

'It's true. It's just like you said.'

"That's what you said the first time."

I didn't get it then but I was barely listening, I was too busy looking around at all the beauty you'd brought into my life.

"Fancy a tour, Miss Pond?" You said offering me your hand.

'Show me the swimming pool!'

And you did. We had to hunt for it first but it turned up, like you said it would.

I felt sleep start to stalk me. Why now? I wondered, I'd been so alert the whole night. Why, when you finally came back was I tired? Thankfully all the adrenaline rushing through me kept me going, room after room, corridor after corridor, holding your hand as we raced forward. I trusted you so much, even then. We ran all over that ship and when I got tired you picked me up and carried me around pointing out all the wonders to me.

When we made it back to the console room I rested my head on your shoulder.

'When are we leaving? I don't need a nap.'

"Well don't you think we'd best alert your Aunt Sharon?"

'She'll figure it out.'

You chuckled and said, "You're so Scottish."

Then you paused.

"But, I can't take you with me this time, Amy."

'Amy?'

I remember not liking Amy at all until you said it. The next day I insisted everyone call me Amy from then on.

"Sorry, _Amelia_."

'Why not?' I asked. I remember being so heartbreakingly disappointed.

"Amelia, do you trust me?"

'You came back for me.' I said as though that answered the question.

"I did, indeed. _When I can_, I'll _always _come back for you. I'll always come back."

Your voice broke, but again I barely noticed.

"I just can't take you with me this time, love." You said as you carried me out of the TARDIS and back to the house.

I whined, I protested, like I always do, like I always have. I tried to come up with the most reasonable arguments a seven year old could muster as you carried me to my room, tucked me in and sat on the side of my bed.

Every scenario I proposed you gently explained wouldn't work. I can't imagine how hard that must have been for you.

I started to cry then, I couldn't help it.

"Amelia Pond, not crying over me, I hope?" You said stroking my hair. In my memory, I remember your eyes looked so sad.

I nodded.

'I want to go with you, Doctor.'

"And you will. Just not today. Shall I tell you about all the adventures we'll have? You and I? You're going to have such an amazing life, so many fantastic exciting days. Amelia Jessica Pond you will be one of the best stories I have ever, ever had the privilege to be a part of."

'How do you know?'

"Because I'm very, very clever. And so are you. Try and remember...when they tease you, love, when they doubt you, when they tell you I don't exist, that I'm just a story in your head, you just remember that I promised you, I swore I'd come back. It'll be you and me and Ro-...all of us in the TARDIS where we belong. You just have to be patient."

'Will you stay with me?'

"I'd have stayed with you both forever. But as it is, I'll stay until you fall asleep."

'Tell me a story.'

"Ok, Pond. Perhaps a story about Amelia the pirate, Amelia the hero, Amelia the muse, Amelia the light of a centurions life...and mine. Which reminds me, that little boy in your school, your friend Rory, be nice to him, he's a mate to the end, trust me. It's all still waiting for you, the whole wide world and the next one and the next one and the next one. This is just the start of it all for you, Amelia. This is just the prologue. This is the tale of Amelia Pond and this, my dear braveheart, is how it all begins."

I was nearly asleep when you left but I know you kissed me on the forehead.

"Bye bye, Pond."

I threw sleepy, tired, trusting little arms around your neck for a hug and you hugged me fiercely in return.

"Wait for me, Pond." You implored. "Wait for me and get ready to run."

And then you were gone.

Is that how you remember it going? I think I have it pretty well memorized. I used to recite it to myself, the whole conversation, like a mantra. It kept me warm when the world got cold and mean. The Doctor's words. _Your _words were my armor, so I memorized every line. It occurs to me, I guess we met a bit back to front too, didn't we? Just like you and Melody. My first. Your last.

Would you believe there are times when I still wonder if you're real? Not often, just every few years or so. When I worry I'll mention you to Rory and he'll stare at me blankly. When I worry I'm just some daft middle aged lady who imagined all of this. But then I think of you and I remember. I _remember_.

Today is my birthday, I turned 39 which means you, Raggedy Man, have been in my life and Rory's life, by proxy for 32 years.

32 years.

I saved a big slice of cake for you with a big, ridiculous buttercream flower on it just like you like. I know how you whine if you don't get the flower. You're such a child. You can have it if you come by. I know you'd come back for us if you could, Doctor. I know you'd always come back.

Because of that and because you kept your promise to me, thank you.

Thank you, Doctor.

Don't worry too much about us. We're doing ok, we just miss you.

Love Across The Stars,

The Birthday Girl Who Waited and The Last Best Centurion


	31. November 23, 1943

_***** A/N It's been awhile since I've done an authors note so i just wanted to take a moment and again thank everybody for reading and reviewing and following me. I feel as though the story is really gathering a pace and that's due in large part to encouragement from you guys. Grad school and life in general has limited how much I time I have to work on this and other stories but as the old song goes, 'I'm still heeeeeerreee'. Guess that's all. Please keep the reviews coming. if you follow tumblr and any of the Amy/Rory tags on their then you may know who I'm talking about with the whole Raphael thing. I had to put that in. I just had to. If not, we'll, you'll find out later. The sum total of my knowledge regarding Rabbi's from the 1st Century and yeshiva's comes almost exclusively from Yentl which is where I lifted one line of this, so, if I'm wrong or if it was stupid, a thousand pardons. But, anything to support head canon, right? **_

_**We might not hear from Bracewell for awhile. He's a bit busy splitting the atom, but we'll see.**_

_**Ok, that's all from this end, Allons-y!******_

_**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXX **_

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

22 of November 1943

Sometimes when Amy's writing, Spartacus and I go for a walk in Central Park. I like the park. All three of us sometimes go for long, marathon treks, just enjoying and memorizing all it has to offer. When it's just me, by myself, strolling around, sometimes I take this journal. Or I'll take the other journal I started. I guess I haven't mentioned that one have I? I've started writing down some of the things that happened during those long 2000 years. I don't know why. I suppose because I don't want to ever forget them. I suppose because Amy likes to hear them and anything she appreciates I start to see with new eyes and inevitably love. When I tell her the stories, it somehow makes my memories more vibrant and it makes her more present within them. She wasn't just sleeping in the box, dormant for millennia, she was with me, helping me, encouraging me, telling me if I waited, we'd be together.

A few times I tried my hand at being one of those guys who plays chess on the benches and takes on all comers. My dad taught me how to play chess. He always used to say, "If you want to sharpen your wits, Rory, you have to learn how to play chess. Chess teaches a man to think and strategize and plan. Chess is a blueprint for a well ordered life." I'm not bad at the game but I was always up for a more leisurely pace than the bench men of the park. Still I enjoyed sitting there, watching them, watching the people, listening to conversations. In a strange way it made me feel closer to my dad, I miss him...he's not even been born yet.

I made a friend here actually, quite recently, in fact we've having him drop by for Thanksgiving. I overheard a conversation in Russian between two men. They were discussing the Talmud and arguing over a specific passage. One of them was contending that it was Rabbi Yishmael who said, "The true strength of a man is shown by his ability to stretch even the narrowest of minds." The other said it was Rabbi Gamliel. I broke in, in my fairly rusty Russian and said, "I beg your pardon, but that was actually Rabbi Akiva." They both sort of stared at me for a moment and then one asked what yeshiva I had attended. I said I hadn't, I was just an amateur and a lapsed Anglican who liked to read a lot, which isn't far from the truth. You'd be amazed what you can teach yourself when you have all the time in the world. As I told Amy, I'm not a genius, I've just lived a very, very long time and you pick up a few things, one of them being languages.

Anyway, we struck up a conversation, their names were Raphel and Gregory, the former an artist and the latter a writer both of whom had emigrated here from Russia as teenagers. We chatted a bit before Gregory had to leave and Raphael and I talked for nearly two hours. I told him about Amy and our life, he told me about his childhood, his father was an Hebrew scholar who raised his children to be intellectual, creative freethinkers. Raphael then showed me his artwork and several sketches he'd been working on just that day. His work and style looked familiar and I realized Amy and I had actually seen some of his paintings on display at local galleries. We switched back and forth between Russian and English and soon found ourselves making plans to meet again.

My point in all this is, I think I've adjusted. I think I've settled in. I think this is home now. That's a relief, a frightening one, like letting go of the reins of a horse and just accepting your fate in the runaway wagon. But I think I'm doing it, I think we both are. Amy and I have been looking into buying a house, not far away from the apartment. We'd both like a place with a driveway and a yard, maybe a little garden. I still plan on starting a private practice, most likely after the war. On top of that, perhaps the biggest news is that Amy and I have started talking about adoption. We wanted to wait, give ourselves time to grieve and adjust, maybe even give ourselves over to the fact that we still wanted to be parents. We do. We do, so very badly. The fact is we've put down roots here and despite troubles at work, despite a war going on, I have my wife and a lovely flat and a future that I can see and taste. I always wanted to be settled with Amy, I suppose the era didn't matter, 21st century, 52nd or 1940's. When I think of how far we've come, where we were last year, tearing apart at the seams, reeling from the loss of Adora, I can't help but wonder what next year will bring and for once I wonder without dread.

For this, I am truly thankful.

**Please review should the mood strike you.**


	32. November 25, 1943

_**Updates may get a bit scarce as I finish up my grad semester. I've got a ton of papers due and unfortunately none of them are Doctor Who related. So, I'm not gone but I might not be around much at least not until I finish. Anyways, consider this your Thanksgiving treat, it's a bit early but I hope you enjoy it.**_

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

25th of November 1943

Dear Doctor,

I rather like the excesses of Thanksgiving, the food, the gluttony, it's all so very American. Have you ever celebrated Thanksgiving, Doctor? In any case, the gluttony isn't what it used to be. Our first year here in 1939, before rationing, before the war, we had an embarassment of food and desserts. This year things are much more scarce. Most of the turkeys and chickens are understandably being sent overseas to the soldiers and what's left here is rather scrawny and small. But we make do and at least, at the start, we all had a wonderful holiday. I was elbow deep in a bird when a flash of light off to my right in the kitchen caught my eye.

Mum, I never imagined you being so domestic!

Melody. My beautiful Melody. I hand't expected to see her and after a thorough handwashing I wrapped her in my arms and thought I might never let her go.

I called out to Rory and we had a family reunion. We all made dinner, together. Three time travelers, kneading dough and coring apples and spilling spices and sneezing because there's too much pepper and burning our fingers on dishes that were too hot. The ony thing missing was you. How I'd love to see you bustling around a kitchen, trying to help, getting in the way getting distracted, ditracting us. I had the time of my life. Just a mum, a dad and their baby.

We took a few pictures which I've slipped into the journal. Me in my red skirt and black jumper, Rory in his brown jumper and trousers and Melody in her stylish royal blue dress. Or is it TARDIS blue, Doctor? Ha ha. I still say that, you know, and I get the strangest looks. TARDIS blue. Anyways, I think we look like a lovely family here, don't you?

I'd invited a friend from the neigborhood, Sunny, her brother Michael and Sunny's children. Rory had invited his new friend Raphael. All together there was eight of us and with a few flexible substitutions, (thank you New York Times helpful hints), there was more than enough to go around. We talked, we laughed, we listened to the radio. Melody was her usual charming self. Rory smoothly lied as he answered questions about who she was and no one seemed really inquisitive. Sunny's brother who was serving in the army but lost his leg was sullen at first but seemed to warm to us all and I had a wonderful time playing with the kids. Raphael and Rory chatted about art, culture, politics and we all engaged in playful, hypothetical arguments and discussions. Occasionally Raphael would take out his sketch pad, he seemed to be drawing something but he never let us see it.

When Melody disappeared, at first I didn't notice. The kids and Sunny and I were playing _Cluedo_ on the floor, which at ths moment in time is called _Murder_. I made a few gueses involving the library and candlesticks but it was if Rory and I noticed Melody was gone at the same time. He looked at me, I looked at him and mouthed, I'll go check.

I walked around the flat, calling her name softly and when I passed the WC I heard the unmistakable sounds of retching. I knocked lightly after I heard the flush.

Just a moment.

No rush, but are you ok?

Fine, Mum, fine... Um, you can come in.

I turned the knob and stepped inside, she was splashing water on her face and seemed to be avoiding looking at me.

I hope dinner wasn't that bad. If you're sick to your stomach your Dad can take a look. Or you can have a lie down. I'm sorry you're not well. It wasn't the turkey was it, cause I'd better start warning people.

She chuckled but there was no mirth in it.

No, of course not. Dinner was wonderful. I'm amazed at what you can do with-

You have a toothbrush in the vanity, where it always is.

She had been about to squirt some toothpaste on her finger when I interrupted her.

You have a toothbrush for me?

She closed her eyes and leaned on the sink as if for support. For some reason this information didn't please her.

Yeah, we also have a dressing gown and pj's and-

She held up her hand as if to stop me, opened the vanity, grabbed her toothbrush and started brushing.

Melody.

I advanced on her. You always had to advance on River and sort of ambush her with affection. So willing to give it, so reluctant to receive. My poor, wee girl.

I'm fine, Mum.

You don't look fine, you look tired.

I touched her back and she flinched but I kept my palm there, staring at her reflection in the mirror.

So, when are you due? I asked.

The toothbrush clattered it the sink and she started coughing. She stopped long enough to turn accusing eyes on me.

Mum!

What? I'm not stupid, love. First off, we love you and congratulations. Second, you're married I should hope you and the Doctor are having a normal sex life. You're a woman, he's a man-

_You _would know. She cut in caustically.

I blushed. I admit I hadn't expected that. Did you tell her, Doctor?

Sorry. She added after a moment.

No. No it's alright. I just wasn't sure if he'd...Anyways, you don't have to hide this from me and your Dad, you know.

There is no reason to bring Dad into any of this. She hissed petulantly.

No reason to bring Dad into what? Rory asked, appearing out of the blue. He made his way into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

I don't believe this! Melody said squeezing her eyes shut. She looked cornered, I knew she wasn't accustomed to being told what to do and certainly wasn't accustomed to her parents behaving like parents. But I didn't care, Doctor, I knew it was right because it felt right.

She's pregnant. I said to Rory.

His face registered shock and then broke into a wide grin.

Oh my God. Melody, congratulations!

He opened his arms to embrace our daughter but she took a step back. Actually she stepped back into the bathtub, pressing herself against the wall.

Neither of you are listening to me!

I couldn't help but quirk a smile.

I imagine this is how it would have been if we'd raised her proper. Too much of my wildness in her blood. She probably would have come home pregnant at 16, terrified to tell us. So unaware we'd do nothing but love her.

Melody, there's nothing to be ashamed. Rory began. We love you, we love the Doctor and sex is-

_Don't_ lecture me about sex. _Don't_ lecture me about the Doctor and _do not _lecture me about sex with the Doctor no matter how much you know about it.

Rory swallowed hard, as much at her venom as her knowing accusation.

Listen to my words, Mum, Dad and try to follow. I am _not_ pregnant.

The room fell silent for a moment and I have to admit I was rather crushed. I want her to have your children, Doctor. I almost think you might need to hear that from me. Your mother in law. For God sakes knock my daughter up will you. I can hear you Doctor, even now, in my head, "Oh the risks, Amy. The danger. You don't understand." But I do understand, Doctor. Life is about risks. You take a lot of them, so why not take this one? I wanted it to be true this time, even if it would have made me a 39 year old grandmother. Even if I never even got to see the baby.

Ok. So if you're not pregnant, then why were you sick?

I have to go. She said suddently.

She leaned a bit out of the bathtub and reached for the vortex manipulator she'd left on the edge of the sink.

But you just got here. It's Thanksgiving and you just never stay long enough.

The tears started to sting my eyes and I reached for her but she pulled away.

Rory was silent as he watched her put the time jumping device on her wrist.

It's that thing isn't it? He said suddenly. You never take it off, or rather you never _used _to but the last few times you've visited...

She looked at both of us in horror and I knew it was true.

Rory advanced on her this time, not caring whether she drew back, his voice raised.

It's this _thing_! It's hurting you, everytime you come back for us, it hurts you!

He reached for her wrist.

Dad, let go of me!

You're killing yourself! Don't you understand we can't lose you. We can't lose our first born, our baby, not again! Not, ever, ever again, do you hear me Melody Williams? This stops now!

Rory! Let me go!

I am not _Rory_. I am your father. That is your mother and if this is making you ill you are never to come back here again. Do you hear me? I forbid it.

I don't know if I had ever seen Rory so angry before. He was breathing rapidly, His face was flushed and he still had a firm grip of Melody's wrist while his other hand was clenched in a fist at his side.

You _forbid _it? She said indignantly. I would suggest you remember to whom you're speaking.

She snatched her wrist out of his grip and stood to her full height, her hackles raised, her eyes flashing.

I am River Song. Only one man in this universe dares to tell me what to do, _Rory_, and even he does so very, _very _sparingly.

You don't speak to you father like that. I said. You mustn't.

It was as though I had lost my voice and suddenly found it. I stepped up beside Rory to present a united front. I took his hand in mine.

You will not use the word "must" with me. Either of you. You weren't there. Neither of you were ever, ever there! Well now I have a chance to be here, for you.

We don't want you to come back here. It's too dangerous.

My voice was shaking as I spoke and I could barely even see her through the tears. I saw enough though to glimpse the hurt on her face. I squeezed Rory's hand as I spoke and he immediately returned the gesture. I knew we agreed.

She's right. We'd rather you were out there somewhere happy and healthy with the Doctor than killing yourelf by degrees just to see us.

We love you, baby, so very, very much. I added.

But we...we undestand that we have to let you go now. Didn't see it coming, I admit. We love you, Melody. But we won't have you commit slow suicide for us.

Rory pawed at his eyes, brushing away tear after tear and I rested my head on his shoulder.

I tried to speak for him. For both of us.

Please, come and finish Thanksgiving with us. Let us give you your Christmas presents and some family pictures and lots of stuff to remember us by. We'll send everyone home and it'll just be the three of us, the family. But then you have to go. We'll be fine, Melody. We have each other. We'll miss you so terribly but we'll be ok. Don't worry about us. Now come on, let's be havng you. That's our good girl.

My throat hurt, it felt raw and hot as I heard my own words echoing in the bathroom and in my head. A voice from within berated me. You can't let her go! It screamed. She's your only living child, she's something wonderful that you and Rory made. Something that thrived. She is magnificent and she's all the two of you will ever, ever have.

Another softer voice, more quiet and calm answered the first one.

And that is why you have to let her go.

It sounded like your voice, Doctor, like yours and Rory's combined.

She looked back and forth at both of us, her eyes wide, frightened and hurt. Suddenly her features went hard and rasing her hand she punched in a few coordinates on the vortex manipulator.

Mum. Dad. Piss off.

And then she was gone. Did she go to you, Doctor? God, I hope so. And I hope you didn't scold her. She's a good girl and she was only doing what she thought was right. But don't let her come back for us.

Rory and I did our best to compose ourselves before retuning to our friends. We didn't talk about it then, we've learned to put off the big things until the appropriate time to deal with them.

I supplied the excuse. Just a silly family squabble, Melody wasn't feeling well. She's having a lie down in our bedroom. But things were already uncomfortable. Rory sat down on the ottoman and I stood next to him and wrapped my arm around his shoulders. He snaked his around my legs and we clasped hands, consoling each other as we always did. Sunny, Michael and the kids thanked us for dinner and made a hasty exit. Raphael took out his pad briefly, he finished his drink and then also bid us goodnight.

When they were gone, I sat on Rory's lap. I hugged him and we cried as we realized we'd never see our daughter again.

We want to write her a letter, Doctor, if that's ok. We hope you'll give it to her for us, we never really did get a chance to explain to her how much she was and is loved. There was always too much running, to much adventure, too much end of the world nonsense. Now there's nothing but time, quiet, contemplative time to hear all our wrongs shouted out to us like the repetitive tolling of a bell.

Sometimes late at night Doctor, all we can hear are our sins.

I think...you understand.

Take care of our baby as you always do and tell her, her old Mum and Dad love her very much and she is and always will be a very, very good girl.

You know what Rory said before we went to bed?

I thought eventually there might be some sort of maximum on loss. You know, a sort of cap. What a stupid, old fool I was.

But he's not stupid. I thought the same thing.

Love across the stars, Doctor.

Amy and Rory

_**Important Authors Note:**_

_**Now, I have a favor to ask. I need you to go to Google Images (not Yahoo, it's harder to find there) and type in Raphael Soyer "Consolation" and then click any one of the paintings that comes up.**_

_**I know it's a couple years early, actually about ten, but I only said he sketched it now, not that he'd painted it yet.**_

_**Is your mind blown? Cuz mine was. Tell me that doesn't look like them, just like them?**_

_**This was kind of a sensation on Tumblr and Pinterest and Reddit for awhile because everyone thought it looked sooo much like Amy and Rory. I had to write it in.**_

_**Again thanks for reading and please Review! Review! Review!**_


	33. December 8, 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Personal Correspondance From Melody Williams/Prof. River Song  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

8th of December 5252

Dear Mum and Dad,

I'm sorry for how I behaved on Thanksgiving.

In fact, I'm more than a little embarrassed. Afterwards, I sought out the Doctor, for solace, I suppose, and using language remarkably similar to Dad's, he forbid me from going back to see you.

It hurt so much when you both told me to leave and not come back. But I understand, after I thought about it I understand.

But, I think you know that won't stop me.

Despite that fact, I am feeling properly chastened. I acted like a ridiculous teenager. Both of you just have this way of making me feel like...your child. I suppose that's because I am.

Mum, you're right, I never do quite stay long enough but there's a reason for that. After you both left, the Doctor asked me to travel with him. I agreed, whenever and wherever he wanted but on the one condition that it was not all the time. You see, I love him, more than just about anything, but I can't be with him all the time, I couldn't bear it. It's too much, he's too much. I would try and shoehorn myself into his life in every way imaginable. If I stayed I would never, ever leave.

It's the same way with both of you. When you told me you had a toothbrush for me, Mum, and pyjamas and a dressing gown I just started having all of these ridiculous fantasies. Staying with you, moving in, having you tuck me in at night and read me stories. I'm a grown woman for God sakes, _several _times over and still there's nothing I want more than to be with my parents. But I can't, I have to drop in, I have to pop by with all three of you and leave before the pull gets too strong.

I hope you understand and I hope you know how much I truly do love the both of you.

We'll never be a normal family, I understand that. Mum, you'll never sit me down and have some talk about heartbreak, Dad, you won't grab a shotgun and chase off some horny teenage boy. I'll never get to sit you down and just ask you about yourselves. Yes, of course I grew up with you but I wasn't always there and though we were good friends, I was never your best friend. That was Dad and of course the Doctor.

So, I do have some questions, if you wouldn't mind. Things I'd never have the courage to ask you face to face.

Did you want me? I know it must have been a shock to wake up in the middle of labor. I can understand if you didn't. We never got time to bond. You never felt me kick. You and Dad never planned for me or painted a nursery or picked out names. I wasn't there one moment, then I was and the next I was gone. I'd just like to know if after all that you still really wanted me.

What did they do to you at Demons Run? Was this, all this misery my fault? The Doctor told me that you and Dad split up for awhile. I never knew that and could scarcely imagine it. I feel so guilty. I know it's irrational but I do. I was raised, I was bred and created to be destructive and you and Dad were my first victims.

Did you hate me as Mels? God, when I think back on her...me, I cringe. I kept a diary then too but I can barely even read through it. I was so filled with hate, I was so angry, so angry at the Doctor who I'd never even met. So furious at how much you loved him. I wanted you to love me like that, with that intensity. You and Dad spent so much time bailing me out of trouble and jail, hiding me in your room when I snuck out of the detention centers, lecturing me on how and why I should be better. So much of your childhood spent parenting your child. It hardly seems fair, most likely because it wasn't. You didn't deserve what I did to you. You must have been so relieved when I'd just up and disappear.

Can you tell me...how would I have grown up? I don't usually indulge like this but I thought, maybe you and Dad might tell me what plans you did have for when you had children.

Would you mind if I went back to your house in London? You left the keys in the TARDIS and I thought it might be nice to see how and where you lived. I'll make sure Granddad is out. I can even bring you things, if you like, maybe your wedding album, some photos. I'm sure the Doctor would be willing to sonic an IPod or two for you. Maybe a taste of home. I travel rather light, don't really have a home per se but I have the Doctors room on the TARDIS and i'd like to have some mementos, nothing anyone will miss of course.

And finally...

Do you love the Doctor? Both of you? And you_ know _what I mean. He's a secretive blighter, but he's more open with me than anyone. Yet there are some aspects of his life with you both that he won't reveal. I was surprised to say the least, what I know I pieced together, no one told me. I'm sorry to have spit it at you both the way I did. Certain memories of the two of you he keeps locked up very, very tight. I thought no one in the world could possibly love the Doctor as much as I did, no one was more fated to be with him than me. Was I wrong?

I'll be back to see you of course. After the Doctor's rant he took the vortex manipulator and added a temporal buffer onto it when he thought I wasn't looking. He knew he couldn't stop me. It's safe now...alright it's safer.

He loves you both very much, you know. I know you may wish you could hear it from him and I wish the same thing. But here's a piece of information that might help. He traveled with you longer than anyone. Ten years he told me. For ten years he returned and returned and returned for his glorious Ponds. None of the other Doctor's companions can say that, not even me.

Mummy, Daddy, I love you so much and for you and you alone I try to do my best, be my best and be the good girl you think I am..

I'll see you at Christmas.

Love,

Your Melody

P.S. I included a special stamp with a homing beacon. Just drop it in a mailbox. It'll get to me.


	34. December 13 (1) 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Personal Correspondance From Dr. Rory Williams and Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams to Melody Williams/Prof. River Song  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

13th of December 1943

Dearest Melody,

We didn't actually know how to start this letter. We were going to write you as well but your questions will really help frame our reply. Your Mum is going to take some of them and I'll take the others.

She's up first:

Hello, love.

Your Dad and I are going to try and hit these questions one at a time. The truth is we're really glad you asked.

First off, we want you to know you were conceived in love and joy, on our honeymoon, in a TARDIS bunk bed no less. You weren't exactly planned. Rory and I were so young then, as newly married as you could get and at that point, planning on traveling with the Doctor indefinitely. But plans and condoms get broken, don't they?

But Rory and I knew we wanted a family, we always knew, especially your Dad. I didn't have much confidence that I'd be a good mother but he had enough faith for both of us. We started discussing it right after he proposed and even though I was so nervous, and not even sure marriage was the right decision for us, I knew then any children I ever had would be Rory's. I just knew.

Like you said, he was my best friend, I trusted him with my life. I thought I was cool and unconventional enough that even if we ended up breaking the engagement, we could still be friends and still be together...loosely. Even then I knew I could never let him go, not completely. God, I just took him for granted, didn't I? Solid, dependable, Rory who'd always be there, even if I wasn't there for him in the way he needed. Anyway, I'm straying from my point which is that in one way or another we always wanted children together.

Which means we always wanted you, before we even knew there was a you to want.

A part of me, the Flesh me, knew something was up pretty early on. I ignored it and it was so easy to deny when day after day my body didn't change. I didn't feel weird, I didn't feel tired, but every so often I'd get rather queasy or later on I started getting sharp pains in my abdomen.

So you see you were wrong, I did feel you kicking.

Labor was hard, Thirteen hours of cramping and pushing and screaming. Atrophied muscles reluctantly coming to life. No idea where I was, no one to hold my hand, no Rory, no Doctor. Just me and you, struggling our way through.

And we made it didn't we? The two Pond girls, on our own we made it. They let me hold you for awhile, mostly just for nursing but other times I got to snuggle with you a bit, kiss you head, tickle your belly, feel how strong a grip your little hand had on my fingers. I so wanted Rory to be there! In those moments, just looking into your eyes, all I could think was my husband and I made this and she is perfect. She's the most wonderful, wondrous thing that's ever existed in this universe or beyond. It didn't matter, where you came from or how you got there, you were ours. You made me hear the hum and the sway and the laughter and the breath and the rhythm of the planets. Despite all the beautiful things the Doctor had ever shown me, seeing your face was the first time I heard the universe sing.

And that was why I named you Melody.

When your father came to save us, as I knew he would, I felt complete. The three of us. The Pond family, unbreakable. When they took you from me, when that flesh erupted in my arms, something shattered inside of me. I can't describe it and I hope, Melody, you never, ever know what that feels like.

Ok, please excuse the smudged ink...I was crying and didn't even know it. All these years later and it still makes me cry. I know you're ok, I knew you were then. When you told us who you were, when I saw that my baby would not just grow up healthy and strong but into a woman I admired and respected and wanted to be like, something in my brain reset.

I know, I may have been detached from you when you took us home. You must have waited so long. Biting your lip, stifling the words you wanted to say. Needing a kiss and cuddle from your old Mum and Dad so bad and for so long and we were so quiet, so blank, perhaps even cold. Crying for a stolen baby when the end result stood not a few feet away from us.

I'm sorry for that. I can't even say I'd handle it better now.

When you dropped us off at home Rory and I sunk into a pretty deep depression. Both of us like skydivers with tangled parachutes pulling the other one down. Rory pulled out of the death drop first, because he had to. My centurion protects me and he always will. I stayed in bed, I didn't eat, I lost 15 pounds. And I called the Doctor incessantly mostly just crying into his answer phone, while Rory held me, begging him for any news on you. I think some of my faith in him broke when he couldn't find you. We wanted our baby back so badly. All I wanted was to hold you in my arms again, to lay you between Rory and I on the bed and count your fingers and toes and then count them over again. To just watch how perfect you were. To make you laugh, to comfort you when you cried and to tell the world to make way for the superhero in training, Melody Pond. We missed you so much.

River Song softened the blow.

Mels softened the blow.

But nothing ever truly blunted it.

Even now, I still have dreams of the Doctor arriving on our doorstep, bundle in hand.

"Pond, she's crying." he'd say looking absolutely bewildered. "She's having an emotion, actually she's having several and I haven't the slightest idea what to do. That's why I've brought her to her parents."

I've accepted now, _we _accepted a long time ago that that was never going to happen. We chastised ourselves for being selfish and short-sided and in doing so learned the incredible peace that stems from gratitude. The gratitude of knowing you were alive and thriving.

We do still wish, sometimes, we'd gotten to raise our baby.

Which is not to say we're not immensely proud of you. We couldn't be more proud. Rory and I wish we could tell everyone about you. Our daughter, the only woman who could keep pace with the Doctor, if not exceed him. Savior of the universe a dozen times over. A legend and a hero, our wee, baby girl.

We love you Melody. We've loved you since before you existed. We were always waiting for you to come along.

That was the long answer to your question of did we want you.

The short answer is a resounding, emphatic, adoring and absolutely endless; Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.

Ok, sweetie, turning things back over to your Dad now.


	35. December 13 (2) 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Personal Correspondance From Dr. Rory Williams and Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams to Melody Williams/Prof. River Song  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

13th of December 1943

Hello Sweetheart,

First off, your Mum is way too hard on herself.

Do you know how she and I met? There were these two bullies, Sam Butterworth and Norris Broaddrick...you'll have to forgive me, sometimes the double set of memories confuses me as to what you were there for and what you weren't. Anyways, Butterworth and Broaddrick were engaged in the important work of hog tying me in preparation to send me face first down the slide. I'd tried to fight them off but I just wasn't strong enough and I just laying there, struggling, face shoved into the dirt. Then out of the blue I saw this burst of red hair. Broaddrick went flying down on the ground to my right, Butterworth followed with a sort of 'Ooof!' sound. I watched their feet beat a path away from me being chased by loud voice with an unfamiliar accent.

They tie rubbish knots. She muttered, loosening me from the ropes. I was still on my stomach but she was making fast work of the bindings. Soon she rolled me over onto my back. I looked up and she was all in shadow, blocking the sun. She extended a hand to me and pulled me up to my feet.

She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

I'm Amelia.

Hi...I'm Rory.

You want to be my friend?

Yes.

You shouldn't let people do that to you. You should stick up for yourself. I'll teach you.

We were both six and from that moment on, I loved her.

My point is, when a demanding, headstrong, bully-thrashing Scottish girl rescues you, you kinda know what you're in store for. I always knew marrying your Mum was the right thing to do but I understand Amy didn't and you know what, the longer you live the more you realize things like that are ok. You don't have to know everything when you're young, try and remember that, dear. In any case, I think Amy is right. If she'd broken the engagement, I would have been devastated and angry but I also would have waited. I committed to your mother that day, next to a slide. Her face took away the embarrassment, the tears, the humiliation and the stinging rope burns. She's all I've ever needed.

Ok, you wanted to know about Mels, crazy, wonderful Mels. Let's see, I met you not long after I met Amy. I remember even then thinking you were so similar, I thought it might cause some problems. But you guys became fast friends, didn't you? And you actually deferred to her and you never deferred to anyone did you?

Then again, when I think about it, you always listened to me a bit too, didn't you? God, you knew, it still blows my mind that you knew.

The stunts you pulled, remember when you set fire to the rubbish bin in the middle of lunch? Remember when you broke into the school and changed all the passwords on the computer? They suspended you and wouldn't let you back in until you told them. I missed you, Amy was distraught and I guessed that like everything else it probably had to do with the Doctor. I told them you'd told me the password because you were too embarassed to do it face to face. They let me fiddile around with it for a bit and eventually I got everything unlocked.

R*A*G*G*E*D*Y*D*O*C*T*O*R*I*S*H*O*T.

Really, Melody?

I remember when I told you, you could come back to school tomorrow and that I'd sorted it, you threw your arms around me and gave me a big hug. I remember, even then how nice that felt.

The other blokes used to tease me cause I only seemed to hang around with girls. As we got older they'd of course imply something lewd and I can't even _begin_ to broach the many and multitude of layers with which that is wrong. But besides the obvious, no one ever got what we all saw in each other and that was ultimately their loss. At home it was just me and my Dad, your Granddad and we didn't always get along. For years I knew I wasn't what he expected and I slowly turned that around in my head to mean that I wasn't what he wanted. It's ok, we mended things between us, thankfully before Manhattan. But back then, you and Amy were my family.

I remember a conversation we had, camped out in Amy's room. I think she was downstairs getting nibbles and you and I had a moment to ourselves. We were talking about life after school and you, per usual, were saying you didn't care.

You have to care, Mels. This is a big deal, what kind of a future are you going to have?

All of time and space. Everythings out there, Rory, and life adds up to a whole lot more than finishing up at some shitty school in Leadworth. I'll probably go back one day. You know me, late bloomer.

Is that what you are?

So what about you and your plans for the future.

Well, you know what I've always said. Nursing school, maybe wind up being a doctor.

_No! _You, A doctor...!? Shocker!

Shut your face. You know, and then after that settling down and starting a family...

Anyone you had in mind?

Well...I...there might be someone.

Come off it, Rory. You know you're gonna marry, Amy! You're-gonna-marry-Amy! You're-gonna-marry-Amy!

Stop it! Stop sing-songing that, she'll hear you!

It had better be you. It has to be you...you're the best, Rory.

That was a rare moment of candor for you and I recall I looked at you curiously. A moment later you continued.

I suppose that's when everything changes.

What do you mean? Nothing will change. We're not going anywhere, Mels. You know nobody ever makes it out of Leadworth. And anytime you're on the run from the police you can stay with us. I mean if there is an us. If she wants me.

You really mean that? I could stay with you?

Of course, you're family. Whether she and I are together in that way or not, I think we knew we'd be looking after you anyways. Actually we rather like it.

You kind of teared up then.

Thanks, Rory.

You hugged me again, just sort of launched your body at me and I caught you in my arms. It felt just as nice as every other time but maybe a bit sadder, a bit more desperate. So I just hugged you tighter.

Crazy Mels. Funny Mels. Wonderful Mels. Silly Mels. Dangerous Mels. Mels who Amy and I spent many a night worrying about, wondering about. Scraping together money to bail you out. We worried about how angry you were. But we loved you. We loved you so much and it didn't matter, no matter how frustrated we got, how fed up we said we were we both always agreed that we couldn't leave our Mels alone, we never would.

No dear, we didn't hate you, we loved you. You worried us, you stressed us, I think you aged us but we loved you. You were our best mate who we felt the unstoppable need to shelter and protect and guide. It didn't make a lot of sense then but it makes sense now.

Hope that clears things up a bit. We loved Mels and we love you, Melody.

Oh, and let me clear something up for you, love, your father is always available to chase some horny bastard away with a shotgun including the Doctor if he gets a bit too grabby. You make sure he knows that.

Your Daddy loves you.

Passing you back to Mum, now.


	36. December 13 (3) 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Personal Correspondance From Dr. Rory Williams and Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams to Melody Williams/Prof. River Song  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

13th of December 1943

OK. Demons Run. Why do I get all the hard questions?

I have these flashbacks sometimes. Even your father doesn't know this. I never told the Doctor either so it's the first time any of you are finding out. Mostly it's just feelings, a sensation of being trapped, my arms pinned, my legs bound. A voice, saccharine, mocking in its false encouragement. _Mostly_ it's just flashbacks but sometimes it's full fledged memories.

Do you remember how I told you, as the Flesh, I'd see a panel open up and Madame Kovarian was just staring at me? Witnessing it as Flesh only lasted a moment. But in real time...it was hours. It was the horrible signal that they were coming for me again. I'd be slid out from that encapsulation and they all be surrounding me in this white, white room. There were Sients, Kovarian, and soldiers with their weapons aimed at me.

The first time it happened Kovarian told them,

If she moves, shoot her. We just need the child. A vegetable will work just as well as an incubator.

They did...horrible things. I spent a good deal of time with my legs in stirrups, helpless and exposed. Mostly I just remember the pain. But it's not all the time, the memories are scattered, fragmented, just as likely to come back to me as I sip some tea as they are in the middle of the night when Rory's working a late shift. Yes, sometimes I get scared but ultimately it doesn't matter, because I'm here with Rory and I'm safe and you're safe and well with the Doctor. We soldier on, like Ponds, like Williamses, like worthy companions of the Doctor.

Now, listen to me, all three of you, because Doctor, I'm assuming you're reading this too. This is none of your faults. Not a one of you could have done anything to prevent this. Doctor you couldn't have figured it out sooner. Rory you couldn't have come faster. Melody, as a fetus you were the most powerless of all. I won't have you blaming yourselves. Any of you.

Back to the question at hand and the answer to what did they do to me is, I don't really know.

When Rory and I went to the fertility clinic the ultrasound revealed "serious and deep layered scarring of the uterine wall." That's what the physician told us as we waited in that room to have our future read to us as blithely as football scores. I was sitting on the table, butcher paper crinkling beneath me, legs dangling. Rory was at my side, tiglty gripping my hand in his.

It looks to be the result of a D&C...or rather _multiple _ D&C's. But _now_ you want children is that correct, Mrs. Williams?

He tsked before adding, ...chickens coming home to roost...

He muttered the last sentence under his breath. I was too shell shocked to speak but I was aware when I felt your Dad's hand slip from mine.

The next thing I knew he had that physician pinned to the wall, his forearm pressing heavily on the other man's windpipe.

What was that you said to my wife? A snide comment about chickens coming home to roost, was it? You think she _earned_ this? You think _any_ woman could possibly _earn_ this?

Mr. Williams...

He was trying to choke out something, an apology maybe, but Rory wouldn't allow him to take in that much air.

On most occasions, your Dad, Melody, is the sweetest, kindest person I have ever known. He is gentle personified. But ever so rarely, even now, I get flashes of the Lone Centurion. Every so often I realize the strength and power and rage and love it would take for an auton without the ability to heal or repair himself to pass 2000 years undamaged.

And at that moment he was furious. He pressed his face close to the other mans and I only just made out what he hissed

Did you know that the Visigoths and the Franks used to scalp their victims? Of course all it took to be one of their victims was to have the poor judgement to disrespect them or their family. They would slice into the persons skull while they were dying, but still very much alive, and peel the skin back like the rind of an orange. Can you imagine the sound, the screaming, the ripping, the blood? _I_ don't have to imagine. I remember.

The physician whimpered and I recall weakly choking out your father's name.

I should take your head and mount it on my wall, but I think I'd rather have your medical license instead.

He released the other man who fell to the floor coughing and sputtering.

Rory walked over to where I sat and helped me to my feet putting a strong arm around me.

Let's go home.

You'll be brought up on charges for assault! The man wheezed.

Not a mark on you, mate. I'd like to see you try, though. Still room on my wall.

Your Dad escorted me out of the room and out of the building. And all at once he was back to the loving husband I knew.

We'll go somewhere else, Amy. He whispered to me. We'll get answers.

We went to multiple places with little results. They wanted reasons and answers for all the scarring, all that horrible, horrible damage and I had none to give. Eventually they diagnosed me with Asherman's Syndrome and assumed I'd had a botched abortion sometime in the past. The syndrome combined with the awful scarring did make one thing clear, I'd never be able to give Rory children. And that just about killed me.

I'm not telling you this to disturb you, Melody. I'm telling you because I need you to know there was one person and one person only responsible for what happened to me. Kovarian. Not you, never you. So please don't feel guilty.

Yes, your Dad and I did split up for awhile. He was so sweet about everything, so kind. We'll adopt, Amy, he said. But I just knew I'd failed him. Yet again. Amy Pond had let Rory Williams down, because that's what Amy does, that's all she ever does.

So, I started thinking about how much I was holding him back. How he was great, so wonderfully, impossibly great and he was going to be stuck in London with me, trying to make me happy until the day he died. I loved him for it. I loved every minute I'd ever spent with my Rory and that was why I thought the best thing to do is give him up. A life with me would only make him miserable. So I started planning by degrees to drive him out of my life. I was so mean, so cold to him and one day after months and months I just asked for a divorce and he was so fed up he agreed. I wanted to curl up and die. When he showed up at work to get me to sign the final papers I wanted to wrap my arms around him and take it all back. Tell him I was willing to work on us again. Try harder, be better. But I let him slip away.

Without your father, Melody, I am woefully incomplete.

Honestly, were it not for us getting kidnapped by the Daleks I don't know where we'd be. I was so glad to be back with your dad, I was so happy and I vowed I would never, ever let him go again. That's why I let the Angel touch me because I'll never leave Rory again.

That's the story of Demons Run, and I hope, dear Melody, now that you know the truth you can let all of that guilt go.

Ok, back to Dad...and then we'll try to answer the question about the Doctor together. As best we can.


	37. December 13 (4) 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Personal Correspondance From Dr. Rory Williams and Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams to Melody Williams/Prof. River Song  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

13th of December 1943

Your mum and I thought rather long and hard about what to ask for from home. It's strange, we're actually forgetting what we have or rather what we used to have. We would absolutely love our wedding album, actually all of our albums, especially the blue ones. Those are the ones that are secret, the ones with pictures from our travels with the Doctor. Look through anything you like, of course.

Amy's mum gave her a little perfume bottle and my Dad gave me a pocket watch when I graduated from nursing school we wouldn't mind having those.

The funny thing is after being here for awhile now we've just learned to do without. Of course we miss our laptops and just the unbelievable access to information which we so took for granted but we've adjusted to the 40's. I do have to admit we'd love our iPods. But other than that, maybe some jeans a few t-shirts and jumpers, there aren't really lounging clothes in this era. Poor Amy has been struggling without her glasses. We went to the optometrist here but it's not the same. We ordered two pair right before we left the last time with the Doctor because I just knew she'd break or lose a set. I think we left them in the kitchen, next to the sink. Oh, and sunscreen, Amy just reminded me.

I wish you didn't have to avoid my Dad. I wish you could just walk right up and introduce yourself to him. We've been thinking a lot about our parents and friends and family, wondering where they must think we've gone, what's happened, and we can't come up with a convincing story. Someday Amy and I would like to sit down and write them letters, but not right now. We can't do it now.

You wanted to know how you would have grown up. Well, you would have had a nursery which as you grew we'd have converted into a more grown up bedroom. We'd read to you, we'd spend a lot of time telling you stories, a lot of stories from books, stories about the Doctor and stories your Mum made up. You'd have a love for learning and reading. We would have made sure you went to the best school and you had best believe you'd be going to university, missy. Alright...you wouldn't have to go if you_ really_ didn't want to. I think you might assume I'd be the stricter parent but in truth I think it might be Amy. She can be quite the taskmaster. I'd probably call a lot of family meetings. My dad was fond of them and actually it was a good way to air grievances and fix problems. Amy was accustomed to family game nights and outings so you'd have to deal with your goofy parents taking you to movies and bowling and mini golf and amusement parks. Any boy who showed the slightest interest in you would have had to undergo a rigorous interrogation from yours truly, probably in full Centurion gear. We would have looked forward to watching you grow and mature, to all the big days in your life. I would have looked forward to walking you down the aisle on your wedding day. Above all else I can tell you, you would have been loved and probably more than a bit spoiled. But the end result would be much the same as we see today, a loving, wonderful brilliant woman who her adoring parents take endless pride in.

You're welcome to anything you like from home, it's your home too.

Next up is the big question. The Doctor.

Your Mum and I will get back to you.


	38. December 15, 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
**Marker: Personal Correspondance From Dr. Rory Williams and Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams to Melody Williams/Prof. River Song**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

15th of December 1943

**M**  
Whenever anyone would ask what our relationship was to the Doctor, we'd answer, it's complicated. So it was then and so it remains even now.

Rory already knows most if not all of this, I denied it for a long time but a part, at least a _small_ part, of the reason I ran away with him is because I was attracted to him. In fact I hit on him pretty hard. First in my bedroom after the Weeping Angels and later in the TARDIS. I believe I said something to the effect of I was "not looking for something so permanent" and then I told him, "You are a bloke and you don't know it and here I am to help!"

Wow, that's more embarrassing to write than it is to remember. I thought I was playing things so cool.

He rebuffed me, of course, and that was when we went to pick up your Dad...who now suddenly wants the pen.

**D**  
Yeah, may I just say, what the Doctor told me is that she kissed him he didn't mention that she offered herself to him on her bed. On the night before our wedding.

**M**  
First off, Rory, it was nearly 20 years ago. Second, the Doctor lies and when he doesn't lie he omits. For the record, Melody, your Dad actually isn't angry right now, he's just taking the piss, we're past this.

Moving on, it was the Doctors idea to pick up your Dad to get us really and truly back together. And a combination of Venice, vampires and running helped make that happen.

But to some extent things were still kind of weird.

**D**  
There was a psychic pollen incident. We all had to choose between two worlds, neither of which turned out to be real. That was the first time I "died" but also the first time I realized the Doctor and I were competing for your mother. Competing in what way, I'm not sure any of us really knew.

So, then I "died", again and was erased from the universe and Amy and the Doctor traveled alone for a bit.

**M**  
Nothing happened. Then he was a Roman, then the Doctor rebooted the universe and then we got married and I half-jokingly offered to snog him in the bushes. Then we _both_ran away with him and the dynamic yet changed again.

**D**  
A lot of the tension evaporated and the Doctor and I actually became friends. I started to trust him but even beyond that I started to like him. In fact, when he "died", when we had the funeral for him on the shores of Lake Silencio, when we buried him like a mighty Norse warrior and the hero that he was, that was when I first realized how much I cared about him. I can't quite describe the relief I felt when we saw him in the cafe. Things got complicated again when Amy was taken, I started to doubt whether I was the one Amy still truly loved, I thought, at her darkest hour she was calling for him and not me. Despite all that, the Doctor and I bonded, mostly over age, the shared memories of 2000 years past and our love for your mother.

**M**  
As it turns out, I wasn't calling for the Doctor, I was calling for your Dad. When you all rescued me, the Flesh me, the dynamic changed again. We were friends, but more intimate, over the course of a dozen adventures, amidst the fighting and the running and the secrets, I got to see how much they loved me, both of them. Everything that lead up to Demons Run and everything that followed just bonded us closer and closer and closer.

Before he dropped us off, before our last adventure together at that rubbish hotel there was an incident.

**D**  
I don't think there's any reason to get into the details. It was a truncated experience, over before it began. We did what we did and he got a bit freaked out and embarrassed, then we did too and we all pulled back and that was sort of the end of it.

We went to the nightmare hotel and then he dropped us off with a new house and a new car and we didn't see him again for two years.

**M**  
We felt guilty. We thought it was our fault. I especially thought I'd done something wrong, pushed him too far. We couldn't quite believe it when he showed up for Christmas, out of the blue, the best present ever. We brought him in and stuffed him like a goose. We'd even scoured the internet and come up with a recipe for an alcoholic Wine Gums drink. It tasted vile, so overly sweet it made my teeth hurt, but he loved it. We talked for what was apparently hours. Where he'd been, why he hadn't come back to see us, why he hadn't trusted us with his secret. He apologized, he said he'd missed us terribly. All three of us were hurting so much from the absence of one another.

You can be with the Doctor, in the midst of one of the most exciting, fulfilling moments of your life and still feel so incredibly lonely, because you know, you just know, someday this all had to end. The Doctor is transitory because he's permanent, he's forever. He moves through your life and you sprint after him and it's like chasing the horizon, you'll never, ever catch up. On those rare, rare moment when he's within your grasp, you just want to reach out and touch him and pretend, just for awhile, that you can hold on.

**D**  
We don't think you want details and frankly, we don't think you need them. The truth is what happened between the Doctor and your mother and I, is private and ultimately _between us_. But we gave you as much information as we did because you wanted to know if what we had was real, a real and true affection for one another that went beyond friendship. The short answer to that is yes. The long answer..is really, really long. You also wanted to know if somehow we negated your destiny with the him. The answer is no, not at all and of course not. It's true, we love him, I speak for both of us when I say, he is the dearest friend we've ever had or will ever have. But our time with him is over, except through these letters and the lifeline that is you.

I think I've lived too long to believe in fate, Melody. But to answer your question in the language you posed it, we were fated to be with the Doctor in the way that we were, for as long as we were, and then the hourglass ran out.

He is ultimately yours, not because we give him to you, he isn't ours to give, but because you belong with him. You love one another in a way that is timeless. We miss him, we love him and we're happy with our memories and at peace with all of our choices. He's your husband, you're his wife and that is as it should be, never question your place with him, your place is at his side.

**M**  
Did that answer everything? We hope so, your Dad and I worked hard on these letters but it was a labor of love. If you have anymore questions, please don't hesitate to ask. We're very happy to tell you anything you need or want to know. And you can always ask away at Christmas, we hope you're still coming.

Tell the Doctor we said hello, we love him and Happiest of Happy Christmases. We love you Melody, more than the wide wide universe and what lies beyond it and we hope to see you very, very soon.

Love,

Mum and Dad


	39. December 21, 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

21st of December 1943

Dear Doctor,

I know Amy has been writing to you for a while, well over a year and I thought I might give it a go myself.

It's nearly Christmas, the fifth Christmas we've spent in Manhattan. Edwin and Dorabella have confirmed plans to come and see us on holiday and we're looking forward to having the house filled with friends.

Something occurs to me, it's occurred to Amy too but when we discussed it, it upset her so much we ended the conversation.

If River can journey back using the vortex manipulator then so could you. That's not what we realized, we've known that since the first few days we were here. I know it's dangerous and I know it's not your favorite way to travel, but you've done it before. So, all Amy and I could come up with is that you don't want to.

But beyond that, you don't come to see us because you think of us as being dead. Seeing the tombstone, made it real for you not just in a timeline fashion but in your hearts. That's what really upset Amy, it shook me up a bit too.

If it matters, Doctor, if it eases your pain or I daresay your (completely unwarranted) guilt at all and if it means you might drop by and see us some surprising day, we are not dead. Amelia Pond-Williams and Rory Williams are very, very much alive.

I could tell you to sac-up, get over it and come visit...that's it's not just about you. I could tell you we no longer expect you to "save" us only to see us. I could tell you that other people, other hearts are involved besides yours, but I won't. I know what it's like to have to make up your mind to move on just so you can move on. But...we miss you. We told River that we were content with our memories, content with you no longer being in our lives. But you tell children things to comfort them.

In case one of us never said it, in case River never told you, this isn't your fault. None of this is your fault and we have never blamed you. Not once.

We love you always and think about you often. Take care of yourself.

Smile.  
Go and see something wonderful.  
Find a planet with snow and play in it.  
Take our daughter dancing.  
Remember us.

That's all, love. Happy Christmas from me and the wife.

Love,

Rory

P.S. We've got five years of gifts stacked up for you, you might want to come by and pick them up someday.


	40. December 24, 1943

**A/N I can't seem to get the formatting right for this one, so apologies ahead of time for weird paragraph breaks. I'll keep trying to fix it, so bear with me.**

**Supplemental: Archival Records **  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

_Journal Entry for the 24th of December 1943_

It's Christmas Eve, 1943. I'm sitting in front of the fireplace with my husband. Our daughter is sleeping on the floor, her head resting in her father's lap. Rory is stroking her hair

and she has the sweetest, most restful smile on her face. I am blissfully content.

She surprised us today. Around 10AM several large packages arrived and Rory and I excitedly tore into them. Doctor, do you know how exciting it is to see jeans and jumpers and

t-shirts and trainers and comfortable underthings? Of course you don't, but it is. The next box was filled with an assortment of things, our iPods, our laptops, Rory's electric razor

among other things and even mini printer. Rory and I looked at each other mystified. At the time we mentioned it in the letter we were half joking,what could we possibly do with

technology nearly 80 years out?

The clothes we can wear around the house of course. As for the computers, I suppose we can open them time to time, to glance at pictures until the battery runs out

and...Amy...I'm on the Internet. How am I on the Internet?

I opened mine as well and found I had a better connection here than I'd ever gotten in London.

Yeah, I've got the same thing. I told him and then suddenly a message popped up on my screen.

_Dear Mum and Dad,_  
_Here, as promised are the care packages. I'm sure you're wondering if giving you some of the creature comforts of home was a bit of a cruel joke on my part. It wasn't. Yes, you are connected to the Internet. Yes, your iPods will play. No, you don't need adapters or to ever have to worry about batteries running out. The answer to all your questions is: soniced. Now, the only caveat, of course is that all of these items must be kept safe and secret. You can never show them to anyone outside of the family. Ever. They're properly buffered, no visiting aliens or even Torchwood, once it comes along will be able to pick up any technological incongruity. I just thought a computer, instead of a typewriter and a little more information at your fingertips as well as some comforting movies might make life a little easier. You still haven't told us how you'd like the Doctor and I to handle your parents. It's all right, there's time. There's always time, I just wanted to warn you about accidentally contacting them by email. In fact, don't contact anybody, email is strictly off limits, at least for the time being. The Doctor can manufacture a story, an accident just to offer them some closure if that's what you'd like. Just think about it. Anyways, I also included all the photo albums. Would you mind holding off looking at them until I get there which should be right about now-_

There was a sudden knock on the door and Rory and I leapt to our feet, abandoning our treasures to open it. And there she was, smiling at us tentatively.

I thought maybe I could spend the night. A proper Christmas Eve. I brought some Christmas biscuits. They're probably rubbish.

She actually sounded nervous, the poor dear. As if we'd send her away. As if we'd tell her no.

Rory grabbed her up, lifting her off her feet saying, Get in here, you! We hugged her, Spartacus barked frantically as he circled around our feet and we started Christmas.

Rory had a mid shift, but we took the time to sit at the kitchen table and flip through some of the photo albums. But before

that the first thing we did was find a place for our wedding picture in its sterling silver frame. I'd missed that picture so much.

The next picture was the framed one of the three of us, you, Rory and I, as the reception was winding down, sweaty, hair mussed exhausted and exhilarated from dancing

and eating and just loving being alive. We all look so young and happy. I'm including a smaller copy of it in this journal, Doctor. I don't know that you'd

be ready to take it from River if we asked her to pass it along. Maybe by the time you read this, you'll be a bit better.

We munched on biscuits and flipped through the albums, starting with childhood and moving forward. We told her so many stories we thought she might start getting bored with

her old mum and dad prattling on but every time we went to stop she encouraged us to continue.

When it was time for Rory to go his kissed us both goodbye.

Now girls, no more looking at albums until I get back. I don't want to miss anything. He said with a grin.

We, his girls, nodded and then we both stood in the doorway, arms around one anothers waists, watching as Rory strode off to work.

He is an amazing man, Mother.

Of course he is, he's your Dad...come on, lets finish decorating.

That's how your wife and I spent the afternoon, Doctor. So very, very normal. Popping popcorn, drinking eggnog, adding ornaments to the tree, I let her hang the one we made

for Adora, I hung the one we made for you and we saved the Christmas star for Rory.

We talked about old times and new times and times yet to come. Oh, and you know what else she told me, Doctor. You

actually have birthday! In fact it was quite recent, November 23 is it? You're a Sagittarius. So, Happy Belated birthday, old man, hope it was a good one.

She helped me prepare dinner, Rory came home and we happily made a big deal of greeting him at the door. He was all smiles and hugs and rosy cheeked and cold nosed. He'd

stopped by and picked up a bouquet of flowers for both of us. His girls, he said again and how I could easily get hooked on hearing that. We ate, we clapped as he balanced on the

ladder and put the star on top of the tree and then he put an arm around both of us and we watched the lights for a while. Melody made us hot chocolate and we all settled in

front of the fire to listen to President Roosevelt's Christmas Eve address.

And that's where we are now Doctor, listening to music, White Christmas is playing at the moment, would you believe it's only two years old?

Conversely I've been dying to watch It's A Wonderful Life but it doesn't come out for three more years. I guess with the laptops we can pull it up ourselves, now. Wizard.

Rory's looking over my shoulder as I write this and he says to make sure I tell you Happy Christmas and that we love you. As if I'd forget.

Happy Christmas, Doctor.

We're a four person family, all the parts are here but one.

Your presents are under the tree and they'll be a place set for you come dinner time.

Love across the stars, Doctor.

Amy, Rory, Melody and Spartacus The Legendary Chocolate Lab


	41. December 26th 1943

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

26th of December 1943

A year ago, Amy and I were barely speaking to one another. Today we had one of the best Christmases ever. I remember when we were little kids, Mels was always the first visitor on Christmas morning. She'd arrive at my house at some ridiculous hour, usually right after I finished opening presents. Then she'd take me by the hand, still in pajamas mind you, and we throw on our coats and run over to Amy's house, our favorite new toys in hand and we'd watch Amy open her presents. Come to think of it we spent most Christmases at Amy's and nearly all of them together. So this morning when she knocked on our bedroom door at an ungodly hour we were ready for her.

She called out, Mum, Dad, it's Christmas!

We pretended to be asleep but then after a moment threw back the covers to reveal we were fully dressed. She looked surprised and then she giggled like she did when she was Mels, like I imagine she would have had we gotten to raise her and experience these type of things properly. We leapt out of bed and I grabbed her by the hand saying 'Well, come on, those presents won't open themselves!' Amy at our heels all of us whooping as we sped out to tear open gifts under the tree.

It snowed last night. It was lovely and we all bundled up to take a walk with Spartacus before Edwin and Dorabella arrived. And oh the hugs and kisses when they did get here. Their car pulled up a little past eleven and Amy went dashing out of the house and leapt into Professor Bracewell's arms. Melody and I stood at the window looking out.

I wonder if he has any idea how important he is to her?

No one really knows how valuable they are, Dad. No one, Not you or Mum not even the Doctor.

They embraced for a while. I heard someone, a neighbor call out, Is that your Dad, Amy?

No, he's my mate! She yelled back. My very, very best mate.

When they finally broke apart she introduced herself to Dorabella as she wiped away tears and then lead them both to our flat.

It was good to meet the man himself. We embraced and I told him how pleased I was to finally shake hands with the person Amy spoke of so highly.

We gave them time to unpack and then settled in the living room for a chat. It was strange, we usually have to be so guarded with people. We have to remember our fabricated past, keep our dates straight and basically not let anything slip. But with Edwin we could speak freely, all of us. I think Amy and I were beaming with pride when we could finally and for what I realized was the first time ever, introduce Melody as our daughter. Imagine it, two time travelers, their daughter of indeterminate age who's also part Time Lord, an android and...what was Dorabella? It would be rude to ask of course, I'm making a note to myself to ask Amy later. Is she an android as well or a figment of a Dalek's imagination come to life, perhaps because as Amy would say, Edwin wished really hard.

What did it matter, we could all talk, honestly and openly about who we were, where we were and where we had come from. We exchanged more gifts, Amy, Dorabella and Melody went into the kitchen to chat and cook up some brunch while Edwin and I stayed in the family room.

She's so glad to see you.

Not half as glad as I am to see her. Why she hasn't aged a day since I saw her last and it's been fifteen years you say? And after all the two of you have been through.

Be sure to tell her that, she says I'm biased and can't be trusted.

Does your daughter live with you now?

No, she just dropped by for Christmas. We'd like it if she'd stay forever but she's got her own life to live.

Does she have a time machine as well?

Something like that.

You both seem happy. There were times I worried so for you.

We are. We're very happy. Sometimes I feel a little guilty given all that going on in the world.

Never regret being happy lad. Your poverty of joy would be no boon to anyone else.

I nodded. It was good advice.

I never wanted to probe too deeply with Amy, but I suppose I'm unclear as to why the Doctor can't come back.

I guess I think about it this way. Time is like a layer of ice on a pond. It's safe to skate over it once, twice maybe 400 or a 1000 times but eventually it starts to thin and fracture and break. New York is like that pond, that ice, except it's already so thin, so fractured he doesn't dare skate across it again lest it shatter taking this whole town with it. The needs of the many-

Outweigh the needs of the few.

Or the two.

There was silence for a moment. My sadly lacking metaphor had conjured up a ridiculous memory of the three of us ice skating on the ice planet Laras Moras. Or rather I was ice skating and spent most of my time holding Amy upright and trying not to let the Doctor fall. It made me smile just to think about it. Most memories of the three of us always made me smile.

So how goes the research? Edwin asked after a moment.

Well, it's gathering a pace. Finished my paper and am going to submit it come the new year. And you...how goes _your_research?

He regarded me, his eyes searching my face. He knew I knew. He knew I knew more than he did. It must be awkward, to sit before the soothsayer. It's how we all felt sitting before the Doctor. It's how the Doctor felt when at every turn he was confronted with "Spoilers." from River.

Would you tell me-

Wouldn't matter if I did. It will go on without you. It's too late to stop it now, mate.

So, it should be stopped? Does it do something good? Does it help?

He sounded desperate and I wanted to give him some sort of encouragement. I had been judging the character and the makeup of people for centuries. I knew a good man by his eyes, his bearing...Bracewell was a good man.

That's still something that's being debated when we left in 2018. It's a essay test question, it's a pub debate that ends in a fist fight. I don't know. Does any good ever come from a weapon?

If you'll pardon me...you speak like a man who hasn't seen the horrors of war.

What could I do but smile at that?

Edwin, I speak as a man who has seen far, far too much of war and has no desire to see it again.

Dad? Melody called cautiously from the doorway to the kitchen. Is everything alright?

She was so protective.

Everythings fine, dear.

She came into the room and knelt down beside my chair, gazing up at me and I put my hand to her cheek.

You should tell me a story before I have to leave tonight. Tell us all a story.

Nobody wants to hear my stories, Melody. I chuckled.

Of course they do!

If you can manage that, Melody, you're a better woman than I am. Amy called from the kitchen. He's a tight lipped bastard. She added affectionately.

Maybe, one story, a short one, after dinner.

I watched our daughter look at Bracewell curiously and I knew in that instant she'd met him before. None of it had happened for him yet of course but it raised my spirits that Amy's efforts to get our letters to the Doctor might not be in vain.

We ate, we talked, we laughed. Sunny, Michael and the kids stopped by as well as Raphael and his brother.

The place setting to my right near the head of the table didn't go unnoticed as we settled ourselves down for Christmas dinner. It was identical to every other setting except for the slim blue ribbon that fastened the napkin around the silverware. And the fact that its chair remained empty.

Are you expecting someone? Sunny asked.

Always. Amy replied with a sad smile.

We can wait, of course. Raphael ventured. There's no rush.

No, no...it's for an absent family member. He'll be along, by and by.

I grabbed her hand and squeezed it. I saw Melody wipe away a tear, her mouth was set in a hard little line and I knew she was thinking about the Doctor, cursing him for what she perceived as the mess he'd made. I gave her a little chuck on the chin and was rewarded with a smile from both my girls.

No tears today. I said biting back a few of my own. It's Christmas. Michael, would you be so good as to say grace?

I'm not a religious man. I never was. Not really something my Dad ever instilled into me. Though I would get the occasional rap on the head for saying a few too many "Goddamn-it's", that seemed to be one of the only personal lines he drew. Amy and I are of one mind on the subject. We got married in a church but mostly just to appease her parents. I think, for some men, the longer you live the more you have to believe in God. For me, the longer I've walked this planet, the more of I've seen the less I even believed in the possibility much less the concept. But I do believe in gratitude. I believe in being thankful for what you have, for what you've been able to hold onto. I also believe I don't know everything. My entire life has been filled with people and places and events and fortuitous occurrences that I can't explain. So...spirituality is just another door I leave cracked, held ajar by a stopper that just says "Maybe'. And as Michael prayed for peace, joy, health and happiness for everyone assembled here and everyone everywhere I could do nothing but add an emphatic 'Amen'.

After dinner I played with the children. They'd gotten two toy swords for Christmas and I found myself giving them a bit of a fencing lesson.

Amy and Edwin talked quietly near the Christmas tree. I could see him becoming more fatherly towards her by the minute and I could also see how she needed that so. I watched him stroke her hair and tut her. I overheard him say how proud he was of her which was quickly followed by her distinctive sniffle. I was glad she had it, glad she had him. God...I missed my dad sometimes. When Amy and I left, he and I had just fallen into an easy rhythm. The years of awkwardness and misunderstandings and screening my calls and broken plans had finally been surmounted. We were getting on well and then it was over. I need to write him, to explain, but I can't find the words.

As Christmas drew to a close Melody again brought up the idea of me telling a story. Reluctantly I agreed and as I lit the fire Amy passed out eggnog. I sat in my chair and everyone looked at me expectantly.

You know, Amy's the storyteller she's-

I was cut off with a chorus of boos and affectionate cat calls.

Ok, I'll tell you a story, its a bit of a Christmas story, or rather a pre-Christmas story. It's about a time that the poet Catallus called "the best of days"...

When I finished they were all a bit silent. I'm not sure who started the round of applause but I blushed and begged them to stop.

Why, the detail...its almost as if you were there. Edwin said.

Amy got up from her place on the couch, sat in her lap and wrapped her arms around me.

Every time I think i know how amazing you are you always surprise me. She whispered. I always underestimate you, always. I love you, my Rory.

I love you, my Princess.

Slowly the night wound down. We bid goodnight and Happy Christmas to Sunny, Michael and the children. Edwin and Dorabella retired to their room leaving only Amy, River and I.

We know you have to go, don't you? I asked trying to hide how sad that made me. We never knew when she was coming back and oh how I tried to never replace "when" with "if".

I do, Dad. But you both have given me the best Christmas I have ever, ever had. The best.

We embraced her, holding on as hard as we could. Always as hard as we could. Crying together, tears of gratitude mixing with tears of sorrow. We kissed her cheeks as we slowly pulled away and I pulled Amy tightly against me.

Don't forget your presents. Amy reminded her. I packed them up for you, nice and portable for time travel.

Thanks, Mum. oh and before I forget...

Melody started searching through her bag and pulled out one last present. It's after midnight, which means its the 26th which means. Happy Birthday, Dad.

I took the gift from her and laughed.

I totally forgot. It _is_ my birthday! Thank you, Melody. Shall I open it now?

No, no...I can't handle anymore tears.

She raised her wrist and started inputting coordinated on the device.

Be careful and safe and come back soon, love. Amy said.

Please come back soon. I added. We love you.

We sure do.

I know and I love you too. And I will give the Doctor your love. Goodbye Mum and Dad.

And then she was gone but at least it didn't sting quite as badly this time.

Amy and I cleaned up a bit, put out the fire and gazed at the tree.

Come on, birthday boy. Time for bed.

She took me by the hand and lead me to our room. We were little too self conscious about Edwin and Dorabella hearing us to do much more than kiss but I had no complaints.

So what did she get you, come on open your present. Amy prompted and I tore into the square package.

What I revealed was a picture in a silver frame, similar to the one that held our wedding photo. In the background were Amy, myself and Mels, all mid laugh on the school playground. We were wearing our coats and I could see the class Christmas tree through a window. We couldn't have been much more than eight years old and it looked like Mels had told some delightful joke that the three of us found hysterical. That alone would have made it a wonderful gift. But in the foreground...in the foreground was a familiar figure. Even though we could only see the back of his head, the frame, the hair, the tweed jacket made it fairly clear. The picture of us was taken from a distance and he was standing, watching us from behind a wire fence. The slender hand of the photographer rested comfortingly on his shoulders.

There was a message from Melody scrawled in the corner of the picture.

_I snapped this when he wasn't looking._

_He wanted to see you for Christmas in the only way he felt he could. _

_Merry Christmas to you both and Happy Birthday, Dad._

_We love you._

I hugged Amy and we went to bed, tearful but happy.

Yeah...best Christmas ever.


	42. December 27, 1943

_**A/N I thought the story Rory told deserved it's own chapter and I also imagine Amy might be so charmed by it she'd need to write it down. So, this is a bit of a departure, but here we go.**_

**Supplemental: Archival Records **  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**27th of December 1943**

**The Lonely Man**

_As told by Doctor Rory Williams_

_Transcribed by Amelia Pond-Williams_

Once upon a time there was a lonely man who was charged with a great and noble duty. There was a Princess, a lovely, red haired Princess who this lonely man loved more than anything else in the world. But he had hurt her, by accident and because of his weakness, she slept in a box and would continue to do so for 2000 until The Lonely Man had done his duty and earned her back again. So The Lonely Man guarded the box, day and night, year upon year upon year. And he grew still and he grew quiet and for hundreds of years he never spoke a word except in his mind, except to the Princess in the box. He told her he loved her, that he was always there, semper fidelis and she would be protected so long as he lived. And this lonely man would live forever.

It was the sounds that finally drew the man out. War and celebration can seem quite similar to the ear and both required further investigation. Hiding the box as best he could he emerged from the Underhenge to see firelight shining in the distance. But it was not the fire of war camps but the fire of joy and jubilation. He approached cautiously not to join their party but just to overhear them. It had been a long time since he heard another human voice and his sluggish mind tried to adjust to the sound. He still recognized the language, Latin, but it had changed, the subtle erosion and rebuilding of speech colored by slang, invaders, tourists, slaves, foreigners and time. He drew closer, how much time had passed. Had he been sleeping? Had he slept? The pull of the box, his love and fear for the Princess made him want to turn back. But a moment later a jolly drunken man had clapped an arm around him and was leading him through the packed thoroughfare, braying a story at him as though they were old friends.

The sites and the sounds captivated him. All around people were laughing and smiling, cavorting and eating. It was not the Rome he remembered. He tried to ask the man at his side what was happening. had there just been a victory in battle? Was there a new Caesar? But the man was too inebriated and too happy to care. The Lonely Man finally broke away from him and came face to face with a woman.

She was lovely. She had red hair like his Princess, she was pale and slim with keen, green eyes and a teasing smile. For a moment he wondered about lineage and reincarnation. For just a flash of a moment, he expected to hear his real name.

The Lonely Man decided to speak before she could.

What day is this? He asked. What is going on? Is this a festival?

She smiled broadly and he felt warm for the first time in ages.

It's Saturnalia! She said and then she looked at his aged armor and her eyes grew sad. Have you been away so long, sir?

Saturnalia. The Lonely Man searched his memory and while the name sparked something, it did not ignite a fire in him. At his blankness she took his arm and began walking with him.

She touched her little pointed hat proudly, a pilleus it was called. Ah, he thought so she was a slave.

These are our days. Our best days where we sing and dance and laugh and eat. We wear the pilleus. Our masters serve us! We can scream and shout and speak freely and act as though we were proper Romans.

She flirted and asked him his name. Ruaidhri. He responded and her eyes brightened. She liked the Gaelic turn of his name and before he knew it she was taking him by the arm again and leading him through the streets. His Celtic was sodden by years of disuse but she helped him through as he muddled through her Latin.

People walked by in bright clothes, the smell of sweets and charred meat filled the air, there were masks and merriment, animals and acrobats. Everywhere he looked The Lonely Man found something else to gaze at in wonder.

Coaihme was her name and she was spirited as she dragged him from one place to another. They ate and watched a puppet show, he had a sip of an ale so thick it nearly made him gag which prompted her to laugh. She sat down at a dice game and won a handful of coins and nuts.

She was a whirlwind but a familiar one. While she did not stir his heart, he did feel an almost immediate affection towards her. When she lead him down an alleyway he thought they were on their way to another part of the festival. Instead she gently pressed him to a wall.

Do you want me? she asked him.

I have a Princess. He responded. Whom I love more than the wide world.

She looked disappointed.

I would have scarcely charged you anything. She said.

Until that moment he hadn't known.

I like you. She continued. I think perhap I'd like to just be with you as though I were just a woman and you a man. There is something about you that reminds me of home.

She pressed her lips to his and he found himself returning the gesture before gently pushing her away.

The Lonely Man searched through the folds of his tunic and retrieved a few coins.

Are these still in circulation?

She laughed.

Of course!

Then allow me to be your escort for the evening. He said. I want nothing more than your company and your smile.

She looked delighted and took his arm again.

You are a funny soldier. Are you certain you don't want to-

My heart and body are hers, they always have been and ever shall. But tonight I am at your service, Lady Caoimhe.

And they left to explore the rest of the fair.

He would not touch her. He only allowed her to touch his arm or for his hand to grace her back as they navigated through a crowd. But she laughed so freely that at certain moments he found himself laughing as well.

As the night drew out he asked her, Is anyone expecting you? Shall I escort you home.

He had noted her yawning but she still seemed reluctant to leave. Again, he thought of his Princess and the similarities of those blessed with fire-y hair.

Perhaps I should like to retire. But only on one condition.

I cannot come with you, Caoimhe.

She giggled softly and kissed his cheek.

Though I would very much like that, that was not what I was going to request, Ruaidhri. This is only the first of seven days of the celebration. Will you return for me tomorrow? Will your Princess mind?

He mulled it over in his head. He'd had no intention of even getting this close much less committing to returning. Which is why even he was surprised when he said, Yes.

He walked her home and upon arrival at her master's house he gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead. She beamed at him.

Until tomorrow. She said and then in a dash of lithe limbs and red hair she disappeared into the house.

The Lonely Man made his way back to the Underhenge and cooed soothing apologies to his Princess. He imagined they conversed sometimes and in that imagining he had expected he'd find her angry or worse yet silent. She was neither and he sat before her stone tomb and pretended she asked him about his evening and he told her of the party and the lights and the strange young woman he had met.

He returned for her the next night and the one after that, and the one after that and the one after that until they had spent five night together, enjoying each others company.

On the sixth night he asked her.

What happens when Saturnalia ends?

Life returns to normal, Ruaidhri. I remove my cap, I replace my clothes and I return to selling myself on the street.

The thought of it angered him so much he had to be wary of the fist he wanted to make lest he crush her small hand.

Were you ever free?

Oh yes, as a girl. A long time ago, it seems. I was captured and brought here. Sold to my lord Decimus. He has house slave, field slaves and some women like me that he sets out at night. When we return we split whatever profit we have made with him.

Does he have plans to free you?

None that I know of. She said with a bitter laugh.

A thought occurred to him but before he could voice it she said.

Come, let's not talk about such things. It's a party. Our party. Let's pretend it's just for us.

And so he pretended.

As their evening drew to a close she grew sad.

Only one more night and then things return to how they were. Will I ever see you again?

You will see me tomorrow night, Caoimhe.

Pity this comes only once a year. She said and rested her head on his shoulder as he walked her home. He kissed her cheek and waited until she was inside to walk away.

He lived among corpses. He didn't like to think of it but it was true. The Underhenge was littered with bodies of soldiers he had once called friends. Not to mention the Daleks, Sontarans, Slitheen, Sycorax, Zygon, Cybermen...etc. etc. But he didn't allow his disgust to dissuade him from his plan.

He spoke to his Princess and told her, I think this is the right thing to do. In his mind he heard her agree. So he began rifling first through the pockets of his dead, plastic comrades. They all had some money but not nearly enough. Then he drew his weapon, the same weapon that had killed his Princess and he began to slice through the recognizable metal on the fallen aliens armor. Gold, silver, platinum and things not even remotely of this world. When he had gathered what he felt was enough to persuade and awe he set out.

The house of Praetorian Decimus was not the most impressive he had ever seen but he had certainly done well for himself. He typically walked Caoimhe to the rear of the house and this was his first view of the front. He begged audience with the master of the house and perhaps because of his armor and the fear of what things he might bring he was seen immediately. It was still the sixth night of the festival, only a few hours since he'd left Caoihme and The Lonely Man feared he might have awakened the house. But though it was indeed late, everyone was still up enjoying the festivities.

Hail Caesar! The Lonely Man said as he entered.

Hail Caesar! Do you _come_from Caesar?

No, my lord, I come only on my own behalf. I have a request of you great Praetorian. The Lonely Man found that flattery worked on the lowest and mightiest of men alike. A request I pray you honor in respect of the never abiding grace of Saturn and the abundance of his festival that we now celebrate.

Continue with your petition.

Thank you, your grace, You house a slave here, Caoimhe, is that correct?

It is.

I would to purchase her.

The Praetorian began to chuckle which The Lonely Man did not take as a good sign.

You are not the first so won over by her charms. Tell me, where did she win your heart. In the hay near where the pigs slop? Perhaps up against the wall in the back room at the pub. Yes, quite a _lady_is our dear, dear Caoimhe.

The Lonely Man bristled and his fingers twitched, itching for his sword.

In truth, sir, The Lonely Man began, starting his lie. She reminds me of my sister, a sister I lost some 9 years back. Because of this remembrance and as an honor to my sister I wish to free this girl.

The Praetorian regarded him.

You've been too long at war. This is why you are besotted so easily. I would suggest you spend the next few months rutting with anything and everything that casts an eye towards you and then return here if you remember the way or Caoimhe's name.

He made to dismiss The Lonely Man but the latter stepped forward, finally dropping his parcel on the ground.

I am prepared to pay and pay handsomely.

She would be very expensive. Well out of reach for a common soldier.

The Lonely Man opened his bag and fist removed the coins.

My initial offering.

He handed the coins to the Praetorian who took them greedily.

A good start.

The Lonely Man nodded and removed a solid bar of silver or rather something that resembled silver, taken from a Sontaran helmet.

And this my lord.

The mans eyes boggled as he took the bar and held it in his hands.

How came you by this? Did you steal it?

My methods are my own. But rest assured those to whom it belonged originally will not come looking for it.  
He clearly wanted to see what else lay in the bag but his concern about their origins kept his avarice in check.

All this for Caoimhe?

For her alone, yes your grace.

There was a moment of silence between them until finally the Praetorian nodded.

She is yours.

The Lonely Man felt joy rise in his heart which hadn't happened for a very long time.

She sleeps now. Return tomorrow morning and claim her.

The Lonely Man nodded.

Hail Ceasar!

Hail Ceasar!

He exited and left for the town square to find silversmithe. The law forbade anyone save Rome herself from striking silver coins but greasing the wheels often got one around the law. He found a willing man with a crucible and for a hefty price bade him strike all the metal into coins of silver, bronze and gold. He waited there for the entire night as the man worked hard and at first light he stuck out, the coins still warm in his tunic towards the Praetorians house. He found her, sitting outside in tears.

Caoimhe, what's wrong?

They put me out. I don't know what I did, but this morning someone came, roused me from bed, bundled my things and put me to the street. They said to wait here. I don't know what's going to happen. Perhaps I'll be thrown into jail.

The Lonely Man placed his arm around her, helped her to her feet and started to lead her away.

I don't know why they didn't tell you properly. Caoihme, you're free.

She gazed up at him through her tangle of vibrant red.

What are you talking about?

I bought you. I hate to say it that way but I bought your freedom.

She looked at him disbelieving for a moment but upon realizing her centurion was never a man to lie she brightened. Throwing her arms around him she squealed and the few people scattered about the sleepy dawnlit street turned to look at them.

I belong to you, now? She asked happily.

No, love. You don't belong to anyone. You are _liberta._ You are _saor._

It appeared to hit her in waves, the gravity of his words and knowing what little he did about women he opened his arms just in time to catch her as she fell against him, sobbing.

The Lonely Man walked her through town and put down a few coins to rent a room for them. He walked them up a few stone steps and into their room.

She looked around in surprise.

I thought you didn't-

I don't.

Do you want me to pay you back for-

The Lonely Man was horrified at the notion and felt foolish that he could not have predicted how his gesture might be misinterpreted.

No, I would _never_... I just thought you could do with a rest.

Oh! She looked relieved and The Lonely Man felt similarly.

I'll rest, if you'll rest with me.

And so he did.

He lay on the rough mattress and she lay down next to him, pulling his arm about her.

Ruaidhri. She breathed as she snuggled against him

He pulled her close.

And The Lonely Man closed his eyes and pretended.

He didn't need to sleep. The Man in the Box had told him he _wouldn't sleep_but the truth is though he didn't have to, he could.

They dozed for the majority of the day, awakening only when the sounds of the last night of Saturnalia rose to their window.

Wake up, love.

Out of instinct she turned her head up towards him and captured his mouth. For a moment, still coming out of his own sleep, he returned the gesture and a single word escaped his lips.

Amy.

Caoimhe pulled away from the man with a smile.

Ah, the name of the Princess, she said.

He apologized and moved slightly away from her.

The rose from the bed and went out to the streets. The Lonely Man and the free woman stuffed themselves with meat and sweets and laughed and played and danced and as the sun rose on a brand new day they prepared to say goodbye.

Caoimhe, I have something to give you. My conversions rates may be slightly off but I think this may be enough for you to begin a new life.

He handed her the small sack of coins and her eyes widened in surprise.

I cannot take your money, Ruaidhri.

You can and you will.

This is too much.

It's the least I can do.

And I can't go with you...because you love another?

I love another. Will you be alright? I can stay, help you get settled, escort you to another town.

You are the sweetest, strangest man I have ever met and you have saved my life and now you give me every coin you possess. No, I will be alright Ruaidhri. I can be on my own, I am a survivor as I expect you are. And if you stayed...it would just be harder to let you go.

The Lonely Man nodded. He understood that all too well.

Will you be ok, my centurion?

I'll be fine. Now, you put on your pilleus. You're a free woman of some wealth and let no one tell you differently.

He bowed deeply at the waist to her. When he stood the wind was breezing through her red hair and her eyes were shining with tears.

She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly and he returned the gesture.

You will take care of yourself?

I have little choice. He said with a laugh.

I envy your Princess. I shall take one more kiss for you to remember me by and wish you luck.

She pressed her body against his and he wrapped his arms around her waist and again he allowed himself to once more, pretend.

It's alright if you thought of her. She said with a smile. May the gods smile down upon you and bless whatever path you may take.

May your days bring peace, safety and joy, Caoimhe. I shall never forget you.

Nor I you.

Caoimhe. He called after her. Do you know, your name means beautiful?

She gave The Lonely Man one final smile before turning and walking away. She moved easily through the streets as merchants shuttered and cleaned up from the revelry of Saturnalia. He watched her as she blended into the rosy hue of sunrise. Then he gathered himself together and returned to his box and his Princess and his memories.

And he slumbered and dreamt of love and embraces to come and red, red hair.

**I really enjoyed writing this Chapter. In fact it may be one of my most favorite things I've ever written.**

** Please review if you like, it's always appreciated.**


	43. January 2, 1944

2nd of January 1944

My Dearest Amy,

I simply wanted to leave a note and try to express my gratitude and joy to you in a far more eloquent way that I did before we parted. Dorabella and I had the most wonderful time spending the Christmas holiday with you and your family. Your home is beautiful, your friends well chosen, your daughter a complement to her parents and your husband is a man of strength, character and wisdom. You surround yourself with only the best, my dear. And you make a most gracious and lovely hostess. I can't say when I've ever had a better time.

As the New Year dawns, I'm drawn back to think of all the choices I've made in my life, those both wise and foolish. Whether certain memories are fabricated or not at this point I have adopted them as my own. One of the best days of my life was meeting you and the Doctor and one of the best decisions was striking up a correspondence and a wonderful friendship with you, young Amy. I hope the clouds are parting. I hope the war will soon draw to a close...perhaps without needing the fruits of my labor. Without delving too far into things Rory seems particularly disturbed by my work. His foreknowledge, his warning, affected me more than I perhaps let on. In fact, its haunted me.

I feel there is a great deal more to his story than I can imagine. The tale he told was so very real. I almost felt as though I was there with him. He has...old eyes. Eyes far too old for such a young man. I wonder, will you tell me about him some time?

Enclosed is a picture of Dorabella and I at Niagara Falls. We made a small detour as it's something we've both always wanted to see! Did you know that seven years ago these powerful waters froze solid? People actually dared to walk across! Can you imagine, being able to say you walked across Niagara Falls? I wonder about all the things you've seen, Amy. You must write them down. You must share your stories with the world, even if they must be tagged under fiction. At least we'll all know it's true.

Happiest of happy New Years to you and yours.

Love,  
Edwin


	44. January 7, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

7th of January, 1944

Dear Doctor,

I haven't had much time to update because, drumroll please, I got a job! Yeah, a real one a proper one but even better than that it's a writing gig. I got picked up by a little newspaper here doing a weekly column and they let me call it Women On The Home Front just like i wanted. Sure no one will probably read it, but my persistence paid off. I'm going to take all those stories all the women have told me and I'm going to get them out there. I'm going to give them a voice! It feels important you know? It feels like I'm doing something. I'm only one column in mind you so I'll try not to get too big for my britches. I decided to start with Sunny's story, how she's dealing with her husband being away and her brother being home, rationing, taking care of the kids, etc. None of it's easy for her, especially given some of Michael's mood swings. Post traumatic stress disorder isn't exactly something they acknowledge now, you know? I'd been nervous about her reading it but she loved what I did, which was an enormous relief.

I guess it kind of sparked the writing flames in me again in a different way. After Bracey and Rory and even Melody suggesting it over and over again and me starting and stopping and starting again myself, I've finally begun writing about you Doctor.

I hope you don't mind, but I've always felt we made a good fairytale. It starts off as a story about a little girl with an imaginary friend who no one believes is real, but she knows the truth. It's about the adventures she dreamed of having with him when she was little and the adventures they did have when she finally grew up.

I know people have written about you before. I've done plenty of internet searches of you, Mister. I know about the Journal of Impossible Things and that weird Who is Doctor Who? website. It's not exactly like you keep a low profile is it?

_When I was a little girl I had an imaginary friend, and when I grew up, he came back. He's called the Doctor. He comes from somewhere else. He's got a box called the TARDIS that's bigger on the inside and can travel anywhere in time and space. I ran away with him. And we've been running ever since._

How's that for an opening? Is it rubbish? Ugh...don't judge me yet. Let me keep going and then present you with something really good. Ok? I think it's best to just start with the night we first met. I'm thinking children might really like these stories. Maybe I could call it The Adventures of the Raggedy Doctor. Well, I've got time to decide.

I guess that's all for now. Not very exciting I know, but we could all do with a bit of peace and quiet.

Look after you.

Love across the stars, Doctor.

Love, Amy


	45. January 24, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

24th of January 1944

I've been suffering with the flu for the past few weeks and I just can't seem to shake it. Honestly sometimes I think it's more mental than physical. Word about my paper got around the hospital and lets just say it wasn't well received. I'm growing more frustrated by the day. I've even taken to updating my CV, it might be time to make a move.

Move. I don't know if there's a word that strikes more fear in our hearts. One thing that remains unclear is what would happen should we leave Manhattan. Amy and I both agreed upon arrival and subsequent discussion that we wouldn't even attempt it. The Doctor's words were still fresh in our ears.

_"The Angels take Manhattan because they can, because they've never had a food source like this one. The city that never sleeps." _

I follow the papers and buried deep in the back pages are stories of people who've inexplicably gone missing. And it's not murder, or kidnapping or people simply running off. There are still stories one or two every month that amount to, I turned my back for one second and then he or she was gone. Gone, without a trace, no clues, nothing left. I believe the Angels _still_police Manhattan. I believe, in small clusters, that they always have. I have to assume that if we tried to leave they'd take us back even further. But that's not even my greatest fear. So long as I'm with her, let them take us back, 500 years or 1000, we can make, I'll make certain of that. But if it were to be me alone, displaced, leaving her by herself here in 1944...I couldn't bear that. I couldn't bear her being alone and not having anyone to care for her. So we never leave Manhattan. We never cross a bridge and we swore that we never would.

But I may have to leave.

Not in search of a job or anything like that. There are rumors that the Procurement and Assignment Service is displeased. Not enough doctor's have been volunteering for armed service and I'm counted among them. I've been registered for the Selective Service and declared "available" but when asked, I declined a commission. It was nothing formal. The hospital and the board were averse to asking local physicians to serve lest they deprive the community of medical professionals and as a med student I had an automatic deferral anyways. I think I was asked rather casually at a Christmas party in 1941 and my official answer was, No thanks. But that was 1941, just a few weeks into the US's involvement in the war. Now some 3 years later and the situation is quite different.

As best I understand, if I leave Manhattan, I sign my own death warrant. I'm not afraid to die. Ok, I tell a lie, I _am _afraid to die but I'm more afraid of dying so far away from Amy. Seeing myself, at the Winter Quay, confined to that bed, living only for the moment when I'd get to see her again... I still have nightmares about that and I suspect I always will. I don't exist without her. I don't want to. And when I can put aside my own selfishness I realize I'm afraid of leaving her alone. She's smart and strong and wonderful and amazing and she remembered the world back into being, but she needs me. That's not vanity, because I need her too, just as badly. But if I'm not here...or even if the Doctor isn't here to pick up the pieces...I fear what might happen to her. What she'd do.

Just took my temperature, I'm running a fever of 101. I think I'm getting myself all worked up and it's doing no one any good. I'll try and sleep. I was feeling so much better earlier, I told Amy to go, she had interviews to conduct for her column. I'm so proud of her but I practically had to have her dragged away from me with a winch. I'd hate for her to come back and see me in worse shape than when she left.

Signing off for now.

_Curators Note: The following appears to have been written some hours after the first journal entry. The handwriting was difficult to decipher. We suspect given preceding entries and those that follow, Dr. Williams was suffering from an extremely high fever. Nonetheless, it has been preserved as written._

Dear Doctor,

This is important. In fact it may be the most important letter I've ever written you. You made a promise to us...you're gonna keep it. You said you'd always look after us. Always.

Christ, I'm burning up...but listen. I don't care about paradexes...doxes. I don't care if it obliterates New York, if they send me or I die or get lost to time you have to come back for her. I dead...died so many times. So many, manymany times and it was always alright because you were there to look after her.

I'm not giving you permission, I'm givin you an order. You get yr arse back here. If something happens to me, you come back for her. Or you send MelodyRiver back to get her. Don't you even think for a moment, for one bloody second of leaving her here by herself.

God...she loves you and I love you too and the two of you could be enuf...enoughh for each other. It doesn't hasto...have to be...it wouldn't be like before because there's Melody but you could fix things. I no.. know you could.

Am I making sense right now? I think I might be a little sic-sick but you listen to me anyways.

Amy...I hear Amy.

sometimes...I thunk...thinkk I heer the TARDIS.

Dnt. Don't tell her...


	46. January 25, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

25th of January 1944

Dear Doctor,

Currently going on hour 15 in hospital with many more ahead. I got home and found Rory delirious. Half in and out of bed, pale and sweaty and not even remotely coherent. Spartacus was frantic when I walked in the door and now I know why. He lead me right to him.

I helped him back into bed, he was so hot to the touch and he kept grabbing at my arm saying, He'll come for you. It's ok, Amy. It's ok. He'll come for you. He promised.

He was out of his head and I can only assume he was trying to comfort the 7 year old version on me.

I called for an ambulance and I talked to him the whole time until they got there. He lost consciousness as they were putting him on the stretcher and I started screaming at him to wake up. I think they thought I was mad but I didn't care, plus it just made them act a bit nicer and be more reluctant to piss me off. No one upset the crazy lady!

I've seen him like that too many times, Doctor. Did I ever tell you after he almost died because of the Siren I started watching him sleep? I felt crackers in those days, worrying about him, worrying about you, trying to split my panic evenly between you. I just couldn't bear to see him with his eyes closed and so damn still.

They got him to hospital and a chest x-ray showed he had double pneumonia which means he was keeping from me just how sick he was. That doesn't develop overnight. Either that or he's dabbling in self delusion which I think we agreed upon in the marriage vows was strictly my milieu. No matter what, it means I can't exactly trust him to tell me the truth. An ugly habit he picked up from you, Doctor? That whole chicken and the egg thing you're so fond of?

_I need you to trust me, Amy. You don't always tell me the truth. If I told you the truth I wouldn't need you to trust me._

And round and round we go...

I'm sorry Doctor. I'm not really cross with you or with him either. My nerves are frayed. I'm upset. His fever was so high and his breathing so compromised that if I hadn't come home when I did maybe...

He was writing in his journal. It had fallen to the floor and I picked it up. I didn't read it, mostly because I was afraid for his life at that moment, too afraid to snoop. But also I respect his privacy. I wouldn't want him to read some of the things I've written in here. The only words I did see were, Dear Doctor. So he writes to you too. I think that's good.

I'm sitting at his bed now, holding his hand with one of my own and writing to you with the other. Is it strange that his wheezing is comforting? It's slow and steady and at least it means he's breathing. He's on serious antibiotics but they said he's going to be ok. That he just needs time to recover and they can attest he's been working really, really hard. He does so much for me, for us...

Doctor, you and I both saw the gravestone. I know, when Rory dies. While I know time can be rewritten, I still know that as it stands now, he lives to be 82. I never saw mine. Maybe I die tomorrow or five years from now. Can you promise me something, Doctor? Can you promise you won't leave him alone, if something were to happen to me. You and Melody are the two most clever people in the universe. You could figure something out. I could be ok if I just knew that no matter what, he'd be ok.

You know how you can watch someone sleep and they look so small and vulnerable and sweet and young. That's how he looks right now. He had the flu once when we were about 10. He had to stay home from school for a whole week. Each day at lunch I'd run to his house to watch cartoons with him. And each day after school I'd come right back and bring his homework. I even offered to do it for him but he said, No, Amy, you'll just do it wrong and then they'll know. So we'd sit there and talk and watch TV. Sometimes we'd still play Raggedy Doctor (I was relentless wasn't I?). My poor Raggedy Man would be sick and I was the only one in the whole wide universe who could cure him. The method usually changed but once, brave boy that he was, Rory suggested that maybe a kiss would cure him. I looked at him pretty skeptically.

That only works in girly stories. I said.

This is a girly story. Plus I'm the Doctor so if I say it'll work, it'll work.

He convinced me. Plus I wasn't going to let something as silly as a little flu make me not kiss him. So I did. He didn't get better, (well he, Rory, didn't but of course the Doctor was magically well again) but he did get a big smile on his face. After that he went to sleep and I sat by his bed and watched him. I just didn't trust anybody to look after him as well as I could. I made sure he drank his water and I reminded him that he should get up and pee, which embarrassed him but I didn't care. I took his temperature time and time again and I think I tucked him into bed so tight he could barely move.

He's still that same, sweet little boy, Doctor. He's my best friend. He needs me to take care of him. Failing that, he needs you.

I'm sorry. I haven't slept. But I mean what I'm saying. Rory's stirring so I'm going to stop writing and just curl up next to him.

Love across the stars, Doctor.

Love Amy and Rory

**Wow, I hit 100 reviews! Thank you guys so much! All the reviews and favorites and the follows have been great. I really, really appreciate it. You guys keep me going. Keep 'em coming and thanks so much.**


	47. February 14, 1944

14th of February 1944

Dear Bracey,

Rory came down with the flu, then double pneumonia and the poor thing wound up in the hospital for a week. What a way to begin the New Year, eh?He's getting his bearings back though. Counting his time in hospital he's been on antibiotics for some 20 days now. His chest still hurts, he's been too tired to go back to work and he's still got a terrible cough. But circumstances aside, I really like having him home. We spend all day in jeans and t-shirts just enjoying one another's company and talking bout the future.

I think I've become more of an introvert these past few years. Just a middle aged lady who'd rather cuddle up with her husband and watch series after series of Breaking Bad on Netflix than go out and party 40's style. I realize some of those words make any sense to you right now but don't worry about it.

We both read the newspaper everyday, usually first thing in an effort to get it out of the way. One of he headline today read: STIMSON URGES U.S. TO END PESSIMISM; War Secretary Tells Chronic Viewers-With-Alarm to 'Keep Your Shirt On' which sounds surprisingly and condescendingly like, Get confident, stupid! The war _is_ alarming and no one who thinks so is an alarmist. Stimson was specifically referring to Italy and I suppose that caught my eye because it's where Sunny's husband is currently stationed. Anzio, I believe. He's been there since January and it sounds like it's getting worse by the day. What, I wonder, are you hearing on your end? Or are you so busy with your work that you don't even really have time to keep up on the day to day?

I know what you're working on Bracey. Rory told me after Christmas. I don't have any judgement on it, how could I? I just have to switch my thought processes back and forth sometimes. What I mean is, sometimes I look at what's happening, like what's in the paper today, as urgent and present and the hear and now. Other times I look at it as history. I'm not a Time Lord. The Doctor once told me that he could see all of time and space and that some events, events like his death (I'll tell you about that doozy later) or now, Rory and my presence here can't be changed. Time could recycle itself and happen over and over and over again and large scale events will still occur. Vesuvius will still erupt, 9/11 will still happen. And much smaller scale things like Rory and I will still winding up in 1939 can't be undone either. Which leads me to believe this war will end the way it's going to end. Nothing can alter that. Goodness if it was that easy, one of us should have just shot Hitler when he was in the cupboard. I'll tell you about that one later, too.

Sometimes I get all Invictus, you know, I'm the master of my fate and captain of my soul. And sometimes I take comfort in the fact that we're all pushed along and about by time. Most days I just end up somewhere in the middle.

Take care, Bracey,

Rory and I send you our love.

P.S. I just looked up to belatedly add the date to my letter and noticed It's Valentine's Day! I hadn't even realized. With all the craziness of the past few weeks it slipped my mind. I hope you remembered to get something for Dorabella. I suppose Rory is off the hook this year!

P.P.S. Someone just knocked on the door and Rory asked me to answer it. Now here I sit holding a big bouquet of roses, my favorite salted caramels and with the sound of a slightly tone deaf singing-telegram man's rendition of "It Had To Be You" ringing in my ears. He remembered after all. I'm a lucky girl.


	48. February 20, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Doctor Rory Arthur Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

20th of February 1944

The packages started arriving a little past New Years. Mostly sweets, pies, cookies, the occasional cake. I shuddered at the amount of sugar rations wasted. Usually there were just two names on the small little card, mine and the name of a young man. I'd heard about draft board bribery before but I never expected I'd experience it. Yet at least twice a week Amy and I started to find new items on the walk up addressed to me.

The worst was the money. It killed me to imagine them scraping together their few resources to stuff in an envelope for me. I wouldn't dream of keeping any of it, not so much as a cookie, in fact it made me sick to have it in the house. So, before I fell ill, Amy and I discussed what we should do. We decided that it would make sense to return the pastries and baked goods and money, family by family, house by house. It was awkward at first, really awkward. They didn't expect to see us on their doorsteps with the incriminating packages in hand. At first they denied that they'd done it, but we slowly eased them into the fact that we weren't angry, we weren't upset and we certainly weren't going to report them to anyone. After that they usually invited us in.

Even though they made Amy and I feel so welcome, we felt like intruders. In a way, we were, we had no real stake in any of this…at least not yet. We were a couple of "swells" so far removed from the everyday drudgery of 1944 that they could barely relate to us. Or so they thought. My Amy, my sweet wonderful Amy who always found the words when I didn't. Amy, who charmed them and comforted them, put them at ease as she gently encouraged that they enjoy the various deserts themselves. Amy who found a way to slip the money back into their hands without causing offense.

I made them no promises. I couldn't. But I told them I would do my best. I told them I took my position on the draft board seriously and the last thing I would do is send someone off to war with a malady that made them unable to fight. By the end of the visit we weren't Doctor and Mrs. Rory Williams from 5th Avenue, we were two people with slightly strange accents who were "from the neighborhood". We had to do this at night, quietly lest we be found out. It would be bad for us and bad for the families in question. We try to hit at least two or three houses each trip and every time we asked that the family not pass around the idea that…well that I was for sale. Amy simply said, "Tell people he's a good and honest man and he doesn't need any encouragement to be so."

They just wanted to keep their sons safe. That was all. And they'd heard that it never hurt to make nice with the person who might be in charge of sending them off. I didn't blame any of them and I probably would have done the same thing if I were in their place. But it was exhausting for me and for Amy and bless if she didn't keep going on the visits herself when I was sick. This on top of her writing, her interviewing, her babysitting and waiting on me hand and foot.

Makes me feel even guiltier for having frightened her the way I did. I think maybe she thought I was hiding the pneumonia from her but I swear I wasn't. I really didn't feel it coming on. They always say doctors make the worst patients. Apparently they also don't make very _bright _ patients.

I'm doing much better at the moment, probably going to return to work in the next few days. It has been nice being a lazy cat, lounging about the house with Amy. But all good things…etc. etc. etc.

I skimmed my last journal entry to the Doctor. I must have been off my head, I could barely read it. I hope Amy didn't. She hasn't acted as though she's seen it. If I didn't still wholeheartedly agree with the sentiment I'd tears it out and toss it into the fire. But I meant it then just as I do now. I pulled out my laptop and scanned the timeline for this year. There's going to be a concerted ramp up in the war and draft effort. The idea of "doctors draft" is tossed around but never really implemented. At least not _officially_.

I believe that's how it's going to happen. Coercion. Pressure. And the next thing I know _I'll _ be before the draft board. I'm trying to prepare myself which really means trying to prepare for how to tell Amy. On the very slim chance I'm wrong I'm keeping it to myself for now. All I can do is wait.


	49. March 15, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

13th of March 1944

Dear Doctor,

Yesterday Rory and I attended a funeral. Sunny's husband, who I know you heard me mention, died. He was killed on the beach at Anzio. She is absolutely distraught. I can't imagine what that would be like...except I guess I can. But I feel awful comparing our situations because even though I lost Rory, I got him back. Each and every time I've gotten him back. I've been spending the last week with her. Helping her take care of the children, make arrangements, greet all the people wanting to express their condolences and just give her time to rest. Sometimes I feel I took on too much. Three months into writing the column and while its going very, very well it's wearing on me. The stories are always so sad, or maybe I'm just seeing them that way lately. Rory had said he couldn't make it, he couldn't get out of work and I understood but as we were standing at the gravesite for burial I felt a hand slip into mine and there he was.

He's been kind of distracted lately. I'll ask him a question and it takes him a good thirty seconds to reply. I'm sure you know what's going on but I can't exactly blame you for not telling me this time, can I? It's so hard not to snoop. Not to just pick up his journal or search his browser history.

Sunny and the kids came back home with us. It's not good for them to be alone and we've got the space. Her brother Michael declined. I think it brings back too many memories of his time in the service. I was playing with the kids this evening, Rory and Sunny had volunteered to tidy up, when I heard something crash in the kitchen. I jumped and ran to check on them and saw a glass shattered on the floor. Sunny was crying and Rory was holding her tightly against him. He was cradling her head against his chest, his eyes closed doing his best to soothe her.

I looked at them Doctor, and I frowned. No, not because he was embracing her but because...I don't know how to put it into words. Some writer I am, I know.

Do you know that scene in Romeo and Juliet where she's looking down at him after he's just left her bedroom. She has this horrible vision that she's seeing him dead.

Oh God, I have an ill-divining soul.  
Methinks I see thee now, thou art so low  
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb.

For a moment I saw myself, crying in the kitchen, except he isn't there to hold me.

No one is there.

Why am I thinking these things, Doctor? Why are my thoughts so haunted?

I try to think of what you told me when we went on that excursion to the factory. I told you about the woman in the wall who kept peering in at me. You said it, It's a time memory, like a mirage. Nothing to worry about.

Maybe this is a time memory. There's only so many times you can stand weeping over your husband's corpse before it starts to sink into your psyche, right?

Of course the problem is you knew precisely what the Flesh was, what I was and you were lying to me. Maybe there's no such thing as time memory.

I suppose I should just breathe, hmm?

Rory ended up scooping Sunny up and putting her to bed with a mild sedative.

I took care of the kids, tried to calm them down and we all turned in early. I couldn't really sleep but Rory was exhausted and nodded right off.

I stayed up, I'm up now as I write this in bed just looking at him. He looks so restful but still I have to suppress my urge to shake him awake just to have him look at me and smile.

Oh God.

I have an ill-divining soul.

Love across the stars, Doctor.

Love, Amy.


	50. March 26, 1944

_**Authors Note: 50 chapters in I feel as though I should give a passing explanation as to why there aren't any quotation marks and precious little punctuation to speak of in general. I'm in a Cormac McCarthy phase in my writing right now. He once said he saw no reason "to clutter up a page with little meaningless dots." and I'm inclined to agree. So I'm going for a weird, pompous ass kind of minimalist thing. I think the message still gets across without quote marks and I want this to feel like real correspondence while I still cheat and include conversations.**_

_**Also, this is as much to keep it straight in your head as in mine. If they were to be 34 in 1939 that means Amy and Rory would have to have their birthdates retconned back to 1905, Amy, November 20th and Rory, December 26th. This makes Rory too young to have fought in WW1 (River/melody Ret-conning of course) but still old enough to have participated in other military incursions in the years between WWI and WW2.**_

_**Ok, so here it is. One of the major tipping points of the story. I've been hinting and leading since early '42 and here we go.*****_

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Mr. Rory Arthur Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

26th of March 1944

I'm dashing this off rather quickly as Amy gets ready for our night out. Despite all the troubles and stress and pain of recent weeks we've tried to keep up our tradition of date night. If there's one thing we've learned from nearly 20 years of marriage it's that we have to, no matter what, take time to just be a couple.

And now, I'm not sure when we'll have that time again.

It wasn't until I was packing my things to leave the draft board for the day that I knew what was happening. I had heard Judge Merrit was in town. He and Doctor Welling were old friends so when I saw him arrive I didn't think much of it.

Jacket on and bag in hand is when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned round and came face to face with His Honor Judge Morris Merrit.

Doctor Williams?

Yes, sir.

Judge Merrit. Can I have a moment of your time?

Yes, sir. Of course, sir.

He smiled and lead me back to one of the dusty offices adjacent to the gymnasium. I sized him up. He was corrupt, I knew that much, I'm pretty sure everyone did. More than willing to take a bribe to grease the wheels. He had an obsequious, fawning nature which made him immediately untrustworthy. I think it's safe to say I disliked him from the start.

Once inside he gestured for me to sit down and I did so.

Coffee?

No, thank you, sir.

Tea? He asked the slightest hint of condescension in his voice.

No, but again thank you, sir.

Are you a limey, Doctor?

I bristled but held my tongue.

No, I'm an American. My parents were ex-pats from a small town in the U.K. called Leadworth. They never lost the accent and I picked it up.

Never did understand where the term limey came from, it's just what we called you fellows.

The Royal Navy put lime juice in the daily rations of their sailors weak beer in order to prevent scurvy. I suppose Americans soldiers at the time found that to be alien and funny. Though not the ones who developed scurvy, I imagine.

He scowled at me but I held his eyes innocently. I was tired and irritable and suspicious and he was goading my inner smart ass.

You're wealthy, you currently reside in a spacious apartment on 5th avenue. Lot's of savvy investments.

Is _that_ in my file?

No. I learned that simply by asking around.

I see. I didn't realize I was so interesting.

He switched course abruptly.

I'm not sure how abreast you keep yourself up on what's happening in the war, Doctor Williams.

I try to stay informed. The last I heard about the Fosse Ardeatine massacre.

He looked at me strangely. Perhaps I had spoken too soon. Was it too early for that information to be available to the public? I tried to cover.

I have a Ham radio, I pick up a lot of international news and I also speak a little Italian.

Yes, of course. I wanted to ask you a few questions and get myself re-acquainted with your file.

I didn't know you were previously acquainted with it, sir. May I ask why? I said even though I already knew.

Call it idle curiosity. He gave me a rather anemic smile which I did my best to return.

He opened the manilla folder on his desk and began thumbing through it starting at the beginning.

Do you like your job, Doctor?

At the hospital, yes. I like my job very much.

And here?

Honestly? No, not at all.

And why is that?

I have no great affinity for sending scared boys off to die.

He leaned back in his chair and regarded me with the air of someone who felt honor bound to educate a fool.

I served in the First Great War. I volunteered. Saw my friends get their heads blown clean off on the fields of France by the fucking Jerry's. Made Captain by the time it was all over with 180 men under my command.

I suppressed a sigh. I had risen to the rank of _Legatus Legionis_and commanded a legion of 6000 men, but I had no desire to get into a pissing contest with this insect.

I remained silent and he returned to looking at my file. Frowning he peered closer.

It says here you served in '27, mostly in China as part of the forces to protect American interests during the Shanghai riots. Why didn't I see this in your file before? He mused.

Melody. A bit of retconning for dear old Dad. I imagine there must be a good reason for her doing so. Thank you, love.

Yes, sir. I answered.

Awarded the Distinguished Service Cross in 1932. None of this was in your file when I looked earlier, someone's head is gonna roll. He muttered mostly to himself before continuing. Promoted to the rank of _Major_. He sounded damn near incredulous and I had to suppress a smile.

Yes, sir.

Well...it looks like I should be saluting you. He said through gritted teeth.

His whole demeanor change. At first he was just irritated by me, now he truly despised me.

Not necessary.

Why didn't you ever mention this before?

I didn't see how it was relevant. I did my service, I returned home and I wanted to pursue a civilian life.

Yes...well, sir, as it stands I assume you grasp the shortage of medical professionals we're experiencing in the Army at the moment.

I had heard, yes.

But when you were offered a commission, you refused.

I did. I was planning to enter medical school which allowed me an automatic deferment and I felt I could be of more use here. Polio is-

That's not really your call to make, if you'll pardon me, sir.

I could see his stomach turning each time he had to address me as sir. I was rather enjoying it. But over all this grating on me. I wanted to get back to my wife and these scare tactics were wasting my time. I didn't really see how I could make things any worse than they already were. The wheels were in motion any fool could see that. I stood up suddenly and it took him by surprise.

Captain, I think we both know why you called me here. You mean for me to take up my commision or effectively be press ganged back into service. I can't refuse that but I won't play at words with you. I won't have you waste my time or question my priorities.

He narrowed his eyes at me and something within me snapped.

On your feet, Captain!

His instinct took over and he scrambled to his feet.

When you address me you will do so with respect, is that clear?

Yes, sir, Major.

Is there anything else?

One thing, sir. I don't think there's any reason to put this in the mail, do you sir?

I already knew what it was when he handed it to me.

No, I don't believe there is.

I left the office without another word.

I didn't bother to open the envelope until I was walking home.

_From: The President of the United States_

_Order To Report For Induction,_

_To: Rory Arthur Williams_

_Order: 9701_

_GREETING:_

_Having submitted yourself to a local board composed of your neighbors for the purpose of determining your availability for training and service in the land or naval forces of the United States you are hereby notified that you have now been selected for training and service therein. You will therefore report to your local board named above at 7:15 AM on April 5th 1944._

I knew the rest. It was all too familiar.

So, I was going then.

One way or another.

I'm taking Amy out tonight for dinner and dancing. I'm not sure when or how I'll tell her.

I have 11 days.


	51. March 27, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records **  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

27th of March 1944

Dear Doctor,

Rory was an absolute prince tonight so I was immediately suspicious. Not as if he's not always nice and wonderful but he and I have a banter, we tease each other, we joke around. You remember. It's how we do Amy and Rory, it's who we are. But he was so sweet tonight, so indulging, so wonderful. He took me to dinner at The Stork Club and I don't know how many times he needed to kiss me across the table. Not that I minded. A lavish meal and desert and in between that he kept asking me to dance, over and over again, but only the slow songs.

And then when we got home he was a bit amorous. What am I saying, amorous, Doctor this is _you _I'm talking to. He was horny, we haven't shagged like that in awhile. Dress hiked, knickers pushed to the side, up against the wall in the kitchen next to the grocery list. Then again, later on after we'd had second dessert, in bed but this time was softer, more sensual. It wasn't playful, it wasn't a shag, in fact it was really, really intense. As I held him in my arms when we'd finished, both of us panting, I asked him to tell me what was wrong. Instead he kissed me and said, I need a shower Amy. Just a few moments to myself and then I'll tell you.

So here I sit on the bed, a little after midnight, waiting to hear the water stop running while dreading it at the same time.

_1:45 AM_

He's going. I just...can't.

_6:22 AM_

Dear Doctor,

I couldn't write anymore last night. After he told me, I dissolved into tears then I started to hyperventilate and then I threw up. I write all this as though I'm better now. I'm not. My head aches, my throat is raw, my eyes are swollen. Rory is sleeping uneasily by my side. He has dark circles under his eyes and maybe, for the first time ever, I think he looks his age. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and I do too. The lines around our eyes are standing out, the forehead wrinkles, the slight valleys around our mouths. Stress has given us both a whole new face. I feel old, Doctor.

He kept saying, We don't know, Amy. We don't know what any of this really means. We don't even know if you can get sent back by the Angels twice. Really, I've been thinking, the Doctor said the Angels send you back and feed off potential energy, _time _energy. They already got us, we don't have anything left for them to feed off of. Maybe we're dead batteries.

But we're still stuck here. I said. I never told you this. But our first few months here when we drove past the Manhattan bridge when we didn't even come near to crossing it, I felt so sick, Rory, I broke out into this cold sweat and I started shaking. I felt like I was going to die, I just knew if we went over, we'd die.

He swallowed.

I know, I remember. I felt it too. But I was never sure if it was just my nerves or-

It was real. That wasn't nerves. That was real.

We don't know that. He'd said suddenly. We just don't know.

So what are our options? I'd send you to Canada, to go stay with Bracey. You could come back in '45 when this is all over.

Still the same problem of getting out. Plus...I've never run from battle, Amy. I don't think I could live with myself if I dodged the draft.

I looked at him like he was absolutely mad.

Fuck the draft! _I_ can't live without _you_. This is the past, Rory, it's all over. Sixty million people die. From start to finish, sixty million and nothing can stop it. Making it sixty million and one won't solve anything.

Amy, I would never run for Canada because I would never leave you.

You _are _leaving me.

Be fair, I have no choice. If I don't show up they will have MP's here to drag me off. They will take me, no matter what, they will take me. Now look, I have reason to believe this might all actually work. Melody added some thing to my file. Military service from WWI, she made me a Major. Why would she do that? It wasn't there before. She's trying to put me into a better situation, somehow. Baby, I'm scared too. I'm terrified but I have to believe we'll come through this.

You don't believe in fate.

No. I believe in our daughter and I believe in the Doctor.

Bugger the Doctor. What's he got to do with this?

And I believe in us.

What if I went with you?

What you mean, dress like a soldier and hop on the bus with me? He laughed mirthlessly.

No, what if I follow the bus in the car. So that way, if something happens, it'll happen to both of us together. All I have to do is blink.

He grabbed me by the shoulders then, his eyes serious and dark.

Amy, I have never, ever forbid you to do anything, but I absolutely forbid you from doing that. I won't have you commit suicide for me. Tell me you won't do that. Promise me!

He gave me a shake and my teeth rattled. Rory had never put his hands on me before.

I won't...I won't do it. I promise.

He'd relaxed then.

Alright. Thank you. Sorry I shook you like that. Are you ok?

Fine. I'm fine. You're on edge, I understand.

Now, will you just trust me. Trust that things will work out ok.

Do you have to go to work today? Please say you'll stay home with me.

I'll call in sick. He whispered pulling me against him in bed. Tomorrow I'll go in and collect my things, take my leave of absence. We're going to spend the next 11 days together, ok. You and me. No calls, no trips, we won't even answer the door. Just you and me, Amy.

Just as it should be.

We settled down in bed and I lay against him taking comfort in his heartbeat. Eventually something switched over inside of me and I brought him into _my _ arms. I started thinking about how truly scared he must be. How sad, and frightened and tired. He needed my comfort, my reassurance, even if I wasn't confident in the slightest.

We'll be ok, love. It will all work out. My brave, brave boy. My husband. My Rory. You're right, everything will be fine. I trust you. I trust us.

I cooed this to him over and over, stroking his hair, holding him to my breasts until he fell asleep. I have to be strong for him. The way he's always strong for me.

This would be a great time for you to show up, Doctor. You love being the hero. You love a zero hour rescue. Well here it is. Here's your moment.

I'm waiting.

I'm always waiting.

I'm going to try and sleep now, next to my husband, while I can.

Something just occured to me, Doctor.

The Angels are making me count down, aren't they? Again. For fun.

11...

Love across the stars, Doctor.

Love, Amy and Rory.


	52. April 1, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Arthur Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

1st of April 1944

Dear Doctor,

Five days from now, if all goes well, I'll be on a bus heading to Pine Camp in Jefferson County, New York for training and assignment. I'll be joining the 5th Armored Division and from there shipping out to the UK. Then I imagine it's on to Utah Beach. I'm scared. But you already knew that.

Amy is handling things well, very well actually. So well I'm worried that she's keeping it all bottled up.

The Doctor came to Amy at her loneliest, when Rory was gone, when she was most afraid. He comforted her and he took her back into the TARDIS. And he loved her to the end of her days.

See what I did there? If you read it, it becomes fact, right? That's what you said. That's what Amy told me you said. It means if something happens to me either leaving Manhattan or on the coasts of France or at any time, you will come for her because you just read what I wrote. You will figure out something and you will save her. I just created a fixed point, so you must.

I'm not sure, but this could theoretically be the last time I get to write to you. I don't think it will be but I won't sacrifice my final moment with you to my hubris or arrogance.

I love you, Doctor. Second to Amy, you're my best friend. I know we didn't exactly get along in the beginning. I was so jealous of you. I think a part of me hated you. That was, of course, before we got to know one another. I want you to know I cherished every moment we spent together. Every adventure, every journey, everything you ever showed us. Knowing that we might have to someday choose between, as we called it, Real Life and Doctor Life, tore me apart. How on earth could anybody ever let you go? I suppose this was the way the Universe decided for us. We would have stayed with you forever, we always said we'd decide later. Some other day. I just can't imagine that day coming.

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention Christmas. It was lovely. Truly lovely and I'm sorry we three didn't get the chance to have that again. I hope you don't regret it, we never did.

I suppose, most importantly, we know you love us. We know you looked after us and took care of us. We know you picked us out of everyone else in this world or the next and according to Melody you came back for us more than anyone. You saved our lives, you saved our engagement, you saved our marriage. You gave me back the woman I loved every time I thought she was lost forever. Even this last time.

Thank you for letting her go. I know it must have been incredibly hard. I know that maybe even in that last moment you tried to convince her to stay. Yeah, I can imagine your face as you're reading this. I may not know your name but I know _you_. It's ok, you're emotional _and_ pragmatic, you knew I was lost but it didn't have to mean she should be lost too. No, Amy didn't tell me any of this and maybe I'm woefully off base. If I am, I'm sorry. But if I'm not, just know that I understand. The point is, you _did _ let her go. You could have grabbed her and forced her bodily back into the TARDIS but you didn't. You let her come back to me. You gave her up and believe me, I know that giving Amy up is just about the hardest thing anyone could do. So thank you. Thank you so very much. I wouldn't trade these last few years with her for anything.

Well...I guess that's all. There's so much to say but I'm writing this while Amy finishes up her article and I don't want her to catch me with red teary eyes. I think my real, true goodbye to you would be as long as War and Peace so best to cut it off here, don't you think. I think this speaks for itself. I think our lives speak for themselves. Who knows maybe everything will be fine and when I'm an old man of 80 and I've forgotten I even wrote this to you I'll pen another long, goodbye letter. Fingers crossed, eh?

Maybe you'll hear from me again. I think you will. I _hope _you will. But in case you don't, know that you were unreservedly loved and I have absolutely no regrets.

Take care of my wife.  
Take care of my daughter.  
Take care of yourself.  
All three of you are the people most dear to me in the world.

Just in case...this is me, saying goodbye.

Always,  
Your Beaky  
Your Roman  
Your Rory


	53. April 3, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records **  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

3rd of April 1944

Dear Doctor,

I haven't written to Bracey. I think I'll just wait until this is all over, I really wouldn't know what to say and by the time the letters reached him..

The last few days with Rory have been wonderful and sometimes, for brief moments, he's made me laugh or love so hard that I've forgotten he's leaving.

I haven't been able to force myself to eat much this week. Just the thought of it makes me feel ill. I've done a lot more pushing food around on my plate than putting it in my mouth. Which probably explains why, by my estimate, I've lost half a stone since he told me. But we've been mostly bumming around the house in t-shirts and jeans so it's hard to tell.

Neither of us are really discussing it. It's as if we have a silent agreement not to and I can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

I don't think I can do this without him, Doctor. It's too much. Too much to ask of anybody. I'm just not strong enough. You and Rory always gave me more credit than I deserved. I've been dissecting this over and over and over in my head and came to the conclusion that I could live, I could manage if he goes to war. It wouldn't be easy but I have such faith in him. He's so smart and strong and brave and if anyone could make it he could. What I can't bear is if he just blinks out of existence. I can't bear it if he's there one minute and gone the next, no warning and no one here to remember or mourn him except me.

After he put me to bed a few nights ago I woke up about an hour later to find he wasn't there. I immediately started crying, thinking I had missed him leaving. As if I could have slept through his departure. But somehow I really thought I had. He heard me of course and came sprinting back into the room. Sitting on the bed he pulled me into his arms and started to apologize.

I woke up and you were gone. I thought-

I'm sorry, Amy. I couldn't sleep and I had something I needed to do.

I looked down at the bed and noticed he had brought a few sheets of paper in along with a pen. He'd probably just jumped up with whatever he'd been holding. Scrawled across the top of one of the pages I saw the words, My Dearest Amy.

What's that? I asked.

He quickly gathered the papers up and put them behind him on the bed.

It's nothing. Just something I'm writing. Something I need to do. Come here, let's lay down together, it's nothing that can't be finished later.

Is he writing me a goodbye letter, Doctor? Of course he is.

Sorry for not having written you more. But I feel every moment away from Rory is a moment wasted. I want to be with him until the end.

2...

Love across the stars, Doctor.

Love, Us.

**Oh, I know it's sad, it's heartbreaking, I keep making you cry. Believe me, I know. It's all in _my_ head all the time. But just trust me, I'm going somewhere with all this. ****Just hang on. **

**I'm hoping to get another chapter of this out tonight. Maybe even two, but I'm not certain so don't hold me to it.**

**Thank you so much for the reviews and for sticking with me!**


	54. April 5, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Personal Correspondance From Dr. Rory Williams to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

5th of April 1944

Amy,

I hope you listened to what I said to you before I left. According to Google Maps the trip from Manhattan to Fort Drum (that's what Pine Camp will be called in about 14 years.) is nearly 550 km. In 2018 they recommend allowing for at least a 5 1/2 hour trip so I can't quite imagine what it will be in 1944. But in any case, darling, I need you to be the Girl Who Waited for me at least one last time. We're scheduled to make a stop in Poughkeepsie, essentially to stretch our legs and pick up a few more men along the way. That's going to take at least 2 hours. Before you panic, before you give me up as lost. Just wait. Wait for me, Amy. The longer I think about this the more I have to believe our story doesn't end here. It just doesn't, not you and me. We still have so much left to do. I will get off that bus and I will find a pay phone and I will call you.

Wait for me, Amy. Please wait for me.

-Love always,

Rory

I've attached another letter for you. Don't read it unless you have to. Give me 8 hours, ok, we should be at Pine Camp by then. If you haven't heard from me in 8 hours then open this. I love you, Amy.

My Dearest Amy,

If you're reading this I am so, so sorry. Please know and believe the last thing I ever wanted to do was to leave you.

I feel I need to apologize to you because I'm the one who got us into this mess in the first place. People looking in from the outside always got the wrong idea about you and me. They thought you lead me around by the nose while you kept my knackers in your purse. They never gave you the credit you deserved. I was no prize in those early days. Too scared to tell you how I felt. Perpetually nervous, always ineffectual and forgettable. I wasn't the kind of man you needed, and you loved me despite all that.

People never saw how we took care of each other. They never saw how we respected and loved each other. Everything I ever did for you was because you deserved it and more. You deserved so much more Amy. And I should have protected you. I got swept along on the adventure and the excitement and the wonder just like you did. Maybe I was the one who should have been saying no. Maybe I was the one who should have put his foot down. In the beginning, I think I was so use to grounding you but as we got older, as our marriage got stronger, that was less and less necessary. You would have hated me in the moment, but we'd still be safe. We'd be in London. We'd be home.

Those 2000 years I spent without you were the hardest of my life but in a way, I think I needed them. I needed them to mold me into the man you deserved. Strong, confident, and someone who could always protect you. Except I didn't. Amy, I'm so accustomed even now, universe reboot or not to having my senses work for me. Never, not on one battlefield was I ever surprised or taken off guard. Never. And in the end an Angel gets me because I was mesmerized by "someone with the same name as me." on a gravestone. Idiot. You don't know how many times I've relieved that moment. No, that's stupid, of course you do. My point is only that I let you down in those last few moments and you deserved better. I am so sorry.

I have reason to believe that I made it possible for the Doctor to come back for you. I'm not scholar when it comes to paradoxes or the rules of time but I think we had a great tool here right at our fingertips that we never thought to use. Maybe it's for the best. But Amy, he loves you, almost as much as I do. Almost. You mustn't despair, my love, because I know he won't leave you alone. I asked you to wait for me, and you did and I will be forever thankful. Now I ask that you wait for him.

My dear Amy, you are and remain the best thing that has ever happened to me. No wonder the Doctor ever showed me could compare to waking up and finding you in my arms. You are my true North. You are the light that kept me going and beckoned me home.

I don't know how to say goodbye to you, Amy. I don't know how to say goodbye to your smile or your laugh or the way you steal bacon off my plate or your procrastination or the silly faces you make or the way you step up behind me and wrap your arms around me and every problem I thought I had fades away. How do I say goodbye to someone who's entwined into every fiber of my life and being. I love you so much and I need for you to be ok. I need you to go on, I need you to embrace what this strange life still has in store for you. If you want to spend every moment travelling with the Doctor then you should. If you just want to settle down in London then you should do that. I think you should stay with the Doctor though, he can help you through grieving and he more, than anyone else can make you smile again. I don't know what's after this life Amy, if anything, but if there is a heaven, I will be waiting at the gates for you. I would have waited 10,000 years for you. I'll wait forever.

Please take your time. Take the long road. I'm not going anywhere and maybe we'll finally end up in a place where no one can separate us ever, ever again. I love you, Amy. I love you. I love you. I love you. I look over this letter and it seems so sadly inadequate to express how much you mean to me.

I'm at your side right now, watching you sleep. You look no older than 20. You're breathing in and out so softly. I'm counting your eyelashes. I'm counting your freckles. I'm counting all the ways to say I love you in every language I know.

I'll always be here, Amy. Always at your side. I'll never let you go.

Close your eyes and you'll feel me.

Just close your eyes.

I love you. I have loved you. I will always, always love you.

Love,

Your husband, Rory.


	55. April 5th 1944 (Amy 1)

**Supplemental: Archival Records **  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

5th of April 1944

Dear Doctor,

Please send Melody so that she may say goodbye to her Dad.

Thank you.

Love across the stars, Doctor,

The Pond Family


	56. April 5, 1944 9:45 AM (Amy 2)

_**A/N: I assume River always, always knows more than she lets on. And something about that final scene in ATM always struck me.**_

AMY: The Angel, would it send me back to the same time? To him?  
DOCTOR: I don't know. Nobody knows.  
AMY: But it's my best shot, yeah?  
DOCTOR: No!  
RIVER: Doctor, shut up. Yes. Yes, it is.

Out of the three of them she's the only one who's sure. She knows it's the only way Amy will ever see Rory again because she's always known. She always knew it would end this way and there was nothing she could do to stop it. It has a beautiful, tragic, cyclical quality, the same as the Doctor knowing that for River all roads lead to the Library. 

_**"Yes. Yes, it is." **_

**_ She may not have known when it was going to happen or even how but she knew._******

Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams

5th of April 1944

_9:45 AM_

Dear Doctor,

I'm laying in bed by the phone with Melody at my side, waiting for it to ring and as the minutes tick by I'm expecting it less and less. Thank you for sending her, by the way. I'd never seen Rory in uniform before, except his Centurion one. He looked so handsome and even in my distress I felt a surge of pride every time someone walked past him and saluted. My Rory. I stood watching at a distance, organizing, directing, even comforting other young soldiers.

Out of nowhere a hand slipped into mine and I looked to my right and saw Melody.

Hello Mum. She said with a small smile.

I threw my arms around her neck and bit my lip to stop from crying.

You came. He sent you.

I got a letter in Stormcage with a map reference and a date in a TARDIS blue envelope. Of course I came. Mum, what's going on?

I pulled back and looked into her face.

This is early for you isn't it? Have we done Christmas together?

She looked at me blankly.

Adora? Letters to me and your Dad?

I'm sorry, Mum. I really don't know what's going on. Why are you here?

Oh Doctor, the confusion in her eyes. Another dagger to the heart.

I put my hand to her face.

It's alright, baby. You don't have to understand. I just wanted you here so you could tell your Dad goodbye.

Where is he going?

I didn't answer her. What could I say?

We were surrounded by our same scene repeated over and over again. A teary women clutching at a man in uniform, unwilling and unable to let go.

I motioned Rory over and he was finally able to break away.

Look who's here. I said gesturing to our daughter.

His face lit up as he gave Melody a kiss on the forehead.

It's so good to see you. Come to see me off?

Of course. She said and I noticed the tremble of her chin. Don't you look smart in uniform, Dad.

That's what I said. I replied.

Rory smiled, looking bashful and he reminded me of the silly boy he was back in school.

My girls, always so complimentary.

The men around us were slowly separating from their families. Throwing their bags onto the bus and climbing aboard. Rory looked over his shoulder and I saw the tension in his face.

I don't understand. Melody said suddenly again.

She's young. This isn't the Melody from Christmas. I'm not sure how early this is for her. I said softly to Rory and he nodded in reply.

He pulled her to him to comfort her like he had me so many time.

Don't worry, dear. I'm going to be alright. You just take care of your Mum until I get back, ok. Stop in and see her from time to time. She's going to need you.

He kissed her curly head and she nodded like a good girl and brushed away a few tears. She looked shellshocked.

And you. He said turning to me.

I don't know how to do this. I said. I don't know how to say goodbye to you. We stepped away from Melody and I finally broke down against his chest.

I'm even more convinced now that everything will be ok, Amy. Melody's here.

I wrote in my diary for the Doctor to get her to come, it doesn't mean anything.

It's ok. It means more than you know.

His words didn't sync with the tears welling in his eyes.

You're lying.

I'm not. I'd never never lie to you not ever. Take this. He said shoving an envelope into my hand.

Is this your goodbye?

Someone called from near the bus as its engine rumbled to life.

Major Williams, it's nearly time to go, sir.

On my way. He answered. No, Amy, this is my goodbye.

He took both of my hands and held them in his, drawing them up against his heart.

I love you, Amy. I've always loved you since the first day I saw you. What I need from you is to trust me, just give me some time. It's going to take at least 6 hours or so to get there. We'll probably stop halfway through and I will call you. I promise. I will call you. If not then, allowing for check in and assignments and all the bullshit formalities I should be settled in in about 8 hours. Give me 8 hours. You'll hear from me. Take the letter. Open it when you get home ok. I love you so much.

He kissed me, tenderly all the while holding me so tight I couldn't move. Still I wanted him to hold me tighter.

He let me go and pressed our foreheads together.

There's never been anyone else for me. Only you.

I love you, Rory. I'm sorry. Oh God, I should have written you something too!

But he only smiled and shushed me.

I know. I already know. You don't have to say a word. I've got to go now.

No.

It's ok, Amy. I promise you, it's ok.

He held out his hand for Melody's and she hurried over quickly.

Daddy loves you. He said and gave her a final kiss on the cheek before putting her hand in mine. Take care of your Mum for me.

He affixed his cap and his lips touched mine for the last time.

Goodbye, my love. He said softly.

I watched as my husband turned and walked away from us. He stepped onto the bus and gave us one last smile before disappearing inside. As he pulled away Melody and I wrapped our arms around each other, I couldn't bear to watch it get smaller and disappear out of sight.

Mother, did Dad drive? She asked after a moment.

I nodded.

Give me the keys. I'll get us home.

Most of what happened next was a blur. We got home. My daughter helped me off with my coat and I mechanically changed into a pair of sweats. I vagueley remember her taking the envelope from my hand and asking me if I wanted her to read it aloud.

Is this catatonia? I wondered. But I nodded at her to go ahead.

I listened. It was much what he'd said to me before he'd left.

There's more, Mum. He says, If you haven't heard from him in 8 hours to open this second envelope.

I nodded.

I know I can't ask you what's going on. I know there's probably massive spoilers in the works here. But I can still be here for you, Mum.

I nodded. It seemed that was about all I could do now, nod.

Will you come and lie down with me. I asked. I want to write in my diary and there's a phone in our bedroom.

Of course.

So, here we are, laying on our bed. Melody behind me, close and comforting.

I'm writing to you, Doctor, because it's the only thing that's keeping me sane right now.

He's not going to call is he?

8 hours will be 4:30 in the afternoon.

Of course he's long been out of Manhattan by now, so I may be hoping against hope for something that's already happened.

It's just after 10:30 in the morning now which means we're past the 2 hour mark.

I feel numb. Am I a widow, Doctor? I suppose only time will tell.

Love across the stars,

-Amy, Rory and Melody


	57. April 5, 1944 1:30 PM (River)

_Curators Historical Footnote: The following correspondence was sent via an archaic method of subversive communication known as "Underlay". Underlay involves one layer of text being hidden beneath another layer. Doctor Song contacted the Doctor using Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams' diary. The page upon which the former wrote would appear blank to the latter allowing for the clandestine transmission of said message to the Doctor._

**Message sent via Journal of Amelia Pond-Williams**  
**Time Delayed**  
**Personal Correspondence: From River Song/Melody Pond to The Doctor**  
**Status: Prisoner **

**Stormcage Designation: 25764389210023**

5th of April 1944

_1:30 PM _

Dear Doctor,

I appreciate the ambush, sweetie. I'm giving you the courtesy of time stamping this so as to avoid spoilers. And thank you so much for putting me in the position of having to drug my own mother. I finally got her to take some tea about half past noon, spiked with a mild sedative. Nothing heavy, she'll wake up if the phone rings. Will it ring? I haven't the slightest idea of what's going on or why they're here in 1944. Or why my father is going off to fight in WWII. I know New York's a bit bumpy as far as the TARDIS is concerned, but where the _hell _are you? What happened, Doctor? What happened to them and why couldn't we stop it.

I did a bit of exploring around their house (And if that works you all up to sixes and sevens well then you just show up here and stop me!) and it looks like they're settled and have been for a few years now. There are pictures of me, so a future version has been here before. There's one of the three of us from Christmas, it must have been what she was talking about. It looks as though I'll have a nice time. They have a photo of the three of you next to their bed, taken on Aridius if I know my binary star systems. It's right beside their wedding photo. They still love you, so whatever happened I suppose all is forgiven.

_Is _ Dad going to call? Mum won't or more than likely can't tell me. Did you really just send me here to say goodbye to him? And then what, leave Mum, all by herself? That seems cold, even for you. I have to assume I'm here to help but I have no idea what to do. She seems to know me, really well in fact, so did Dad. I'm glad I have that to look forward to as well. But I don't really know _her_. I love her just the same though. Now I'm going to hop back in bed and cuddle my mother until whatever happens, happens.

Is this penance for some awful mess I make or a mess we make together?

Sometimes...there are days that I really hate you.

No I don't.

-River


	58. April 5, 1944 9:10 PM (Amy 3)

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

5th of April 1944

_9:10 PM_

Dear Doctor,

It's ten minutes past nine and he hasn't called. I guess that's it then. I thought I'd feel it when he went but maybe that's silly. I didn't feel it when you died, I mean I _felt _ it, but you _know _what I mean. I'm sitting here on the edge of the bathtub waiting for it to fill. I have Rory's letter placed on the side of the sink, I guess I'll have to read it sooner or later. But I feel like that's admitting once and for all that he's gone.

I kept thinking I heard the phone ring a dozen times today. Melody slipped me something, but honestly I halfway expected it. I think I just wanted to pass the hours unconscious.

I-

Hang on.

_9:40_

I'm going to try and write this exactly as it happened but my hands are shaking...

I stopped writing to you because I heard Melody calling me from the other room. I grabbed my robe, opened the door and there she was standing with the phone receiver practically in my face. I froze. I just didn't know what to do. Finally she just held it to my ear.

Hello, Amy? Amy, Are you there? I'm pretty sure I can hear you breathing.

R-Rory?

I saw Melody nod with confirmation.

Yes, it's me. I told you I'd call. I'm sorry I didn't get to you sooner. There was an accident just outside of Utica, we were stuck behind it for hours we didn't get into Pine Camp until eight. I'm so sorry.

Rory is this really you?

I heard him chuckle and then sniffle on the other end.

It's me, Amy. Oh God, did you open the second letter? I know I told you to open it after eight hours and it's totally ok if you did but I guess I'm hoping your procrastination took over.

I was just about to read it now.

Don't. Sock it away. Just forget about it, everything is going to be ok. I mean, I am still most likely headed to Normandy, but really, everything is going to be ok.

I thought you were dead.

I know and I'm so sorry.

What happened?

A bit anti-climactic, really. We took the Henry Hudson Parkway and as we got closer to the Hudson River I started to feel sick to my stomach, like we both did before, but not as strong. I closed my eyes, I held onto my picture of you and Melody and I waited. Nothing happened. The next thing I knew we were over the George Washington Bridge and I was in New York, very, very much alive and not at all blinked from existence or erased from time. I guess I don't really understand it.

I don't either and I don't care. The only thing that matters is that you're ok.

I'm sorry I put you through this.

It's ok. I can't stop crying but it's ok.

Yeah I know the feeling, trying my best to keep it in. Not in the most private place after all. Trying to be cool.

I'm sure you're very, very cool.

Melody had been standing at my side in the doorway, smiling as she wiped away a few tears when suddenly she swore and edge past me into the bathroom. I hadn't even noticed the water pooling around my bare feet.

What was that? Are you guys, ok? Rory asked.

Nothing, we're fine. It's wonderful, Everything is wonderful! The bathtub is overflowing and water is coursing all over the floor and it's wonderful!

It is wonderful isn't it. And then he laughed, it felt like ages since the two of us had laughed.

Will you be, ok, Amy? Can you wait for me? V-E Day. May 8th, 1945. I'm an old guy, they probably won't keep me for mop up. We'll demob and they'll send me home. That's a Tuesday, Amy. It takes about 7 or 8 days to sail back to the States. That means I should be in your arms by Tuesday, May 15, 1945. A little over a year from now on a Tuesday afternoon.

I'll wait for you, Rory. Always.

I'm sorry to cut things so short, but I've got to go. I'll ty and call you again before we ship out. But no matter what I've got paper and pencils and I'm going to write you. I'm going to write to you so much you're going to get tired of seeing letters from me.

I laughed through my tears.

Never.

Keep writing Amy. Keep writing your column, keep writing your stories, keep writing to the Doctor. And for God sakes start writing to me. Just use Victory Mail.

Ok, I'll start right away..

No, first you'll eat something and then get some sleep. Ok?

Ok.

I've got to go, baby.

I love you, Rory.

I love you, too. I told you we'd make it. Get some rest. I'll see you Tuesday.

See you Tuesday.

We hung up and then Melody and I proceeded to do a happy, silly dance around the apartment. I didn't think I'd ever be so grateful that my husband was on his way to war. But I am, Doctor. I'm so happy. Like I said, my hands are shaking. I'm too wired to sleep now so I think I'm just going to sit up talk to my daughter oh and clean up the bathroom floor.

Think about us, Doctor. Think and send good thoughts because a very good man is going to war.

Love across the stars, Doctor.

Love Amy, Rory and Melody

Because we all love you.

**Authors Note: I kind of feel like I've been posting every 6 to 12 hours or so. Part of me wanted to power through it and just take advantage of my Muse when she's feeling so generous. The other part of me was just as eager to resolve this small part of the Rory storyline as you guys were. Ok, we're over a hump. I feel better. Don't you feel better? Now for the easy going vibes of WWII and bloody, bloody combat.**

**More to come. Reviews are craved like Christmas cookies!**


	59. April 11, 1944

11 of April 1944

Dear Bracey,

So much has happened recently I almost don't know where to begin. First things first, Rory, at the moment is on a ship, somewhere in the middle of the North Atlantic bound for England. In effect, he got drafted and he is now Major Rory Arthur Williams and he's off to war. I can say that a lot more calmly now that I use to.

And I know what you're thinking and the answer is, I have no idea how. I was so frightened about what would happen to him if he left Manhattan and he ended up fine. I can't explain it, it goes against everything we thought the Doctor was telling us. But right now, I'm in no mood to look a gift horse in the mouth.

So, I'm by myself now, just me and Spartacus. Haven't gone stircrazy yet but we'll see. Trying to keep busy.

I had to stop working on Amelia Meets The Doctor. It's a little too painful. So I skipped right ahead to Amelia and the Starwhale. I'll send you a rough draft when I have one.

God, it's been so long. I feel like both of us have been so busy and crazy it's gotten harder and harder to reconnect. But I miss you Edwin. I hope you're well.

Write back sooner than soon,

Love,

Amy


	60. Sometime in the 51st Century

**Authors Note: Another quick chapter just to dispense with a problem I could see cropping up in the future. The idea of Amy and Rory being censored was gnawing at me so I had to invent some sort of tech to get around it. Enter River to solve all my problems. I think a lot of this can also be blamed on the fact that I watched The Lake House recently...God help me. **

Sometime in the 51st Century

Dear Mum,

As I recall I didn't get a chance to give Dad a farewell gift. Victory Mail is notoriously vulnerable to snooping and censorship and I want you to be able to talk freely. This isn't psychic paper but it's in the same family. You send him half the ream in a care package and you keep the other half. Whatever he writes there will appear on one of the pieces of paper in your stack and vice versa. Given the time distortion there may be a delay, sometimes as long as it might take in regular the post, but both of you can speak freely. On top of that its 1/10 the thickness of regular paper so you don't have to worry about it weighing him down. If you start to run out, I'll ship more!

Love you, Mum

Gotta run.

Love, Melody.


	61. April 16, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records **  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

16th of April 1944

Some things never change and among them is how bloody choppy the North Atlantic can be. The good thing about that is it means we don't have to worry that much about being torpedoed by subs. The bad thing is the poor GI's are incredibly seasick. Some of them barely leave their bunks. I tend to them as best I can. If I was at home I'd prescribe dimehydrinate or promethazine or scopolamine. But as it is, the best advice I can give them is to come up on deck for fresh air and failing that get some sleep to give their brains and eyes a rest.

I spend a good deal of my time on deck, speaking with officers with stronger stomachs. Introducing myself and getting to know the men I'll be commanding and serving under. There's a familiarity to all of this. The military doesn't change and I admit I like the rhythm here, the pace.

We'll make landfall in a little over two days and I find myself anticipating seeing Britain grow larger in the distance. I know it's not the place I remember, I know I won't even set foot near Leadworth again but I may, at least for a moment, be able to pretend to be home.

But home is a nebulous word now. Home at one time was Leadworth, then the TARDIS, then London, then Manhattan but the one constant was always Amy. Amy made home, home. We got to speak once more before I shipped out and she sounded so much better. I hated leaving her and worse still I hated hearing her so broken and despondent on the phone when I couldn't hold her. As the bus pulled away I saw her sobbing, holding our daughters hand, she was so thin, she'd lost so much weight...I just hated myself.

Sometimes I think we both have a weird form of TARDIS post traumatic stress disorder. We're both so traumatized just by regular life because of Doctor life and vice versa that our reactions usually swing pretty extreme. Or maybe I'm not giving us enough credit, maybe we're as normal as we can be, maybe we're holding up pretty well. I just hate leaving her alone.

What lies ahead are weeks of grim anticipation. First we head for London or what remains of it. I'll be putting in some hours at St. Thomas' hospital then its on to Slapton Sands near Stokenham for weeks of training exercises. Then D-Day.

It's still jarring to awaken and not find Amy by my side. I look forward to landing simply because I can start writing to her. Whenever I read her words I can hear her voice, I can feel her arms around me.

Sometimes I think about all the places the Doctor has been. All the times throughout time he's landed on earth. I wonder if he's here now. Some version of him, some incarnation. If he is, would I recognize him? Would there be something in me that he'd recognize? Do emotions echo back through time? God help me but I know I'll be on the lookout for him. I guess I'll look for him until the day I die. It's not like I have a plan. It's not like I know what I'd say if anything. But it might be nice to look into those eyes again, shake his hand, give him a hug even if he had no idea who I was. It would be nice to hear the TARDIS again.

Some things never change.


	62. April 30, 1944

30th of April 1944

Dear Amy,

I am sorry and saddened to hear about Rory's situation. This is all so incredibly sudden. I imagine you must be reeling. Would you like some company, my dear? The moment I told Dorabella she immediately asked me to ask you if you'd like for her to drive down. She took quite a liking to you over Christmas and she couldn't bear the idea of you being alone.

What I have gleaned from your husband is that he like you is a survivor. I believe he will prevail. He said something I found curious on Christmas. He described himself as something along the lines of 'an old man who had seen too much of war'. Has he served before? His story about the Lonely Roman was so compelling, so strangely vivid but I can't imagine how that could possibly fit into his past.

What news I have pales in comparison. Tempers have flared more than a few times in lab. We're all getting rather testy and short with each other. It doesn't help that we've divided into what appears to be two camps, one Chalk River the other Montreal Lab with McGill University appearing to wait things out to pick a winner. I deplore these types of politics. Despite the gravity of our work given the immaturity I must deal with on an almost daily basis I sometimes feel more like a schoolboy than a scientist.

Enough about me, you don't want to hear the whingings of an old man. But, dear Amy, if you'll allow me to assume a perhaps unearned parental tone for a moment then read on. I won't have you wasting away while Rory is gone. I expect you to eat three square meals a day. I also expect you to take some air and enjoy the time you spend walking Spartacus. Do not isolate yourself, visit with your friends, go out for tea or dinner, take yourself to one of those movies you enjoy so much. Rory wants you vibrant and as happy as circumstances can allow, not cloistered and miserable. I would certainly never demand you force a happy face, but don't hide from the possibility of one either. Misguided penance on your part will not bring him home any sooner. I also expect you to keep up with your writing, not just to me or to Rory but _your _ writing. Finish your stories, we are wanting for reading material here! I expect a draft of "Amy and the Starwhale" to arrive in the post sometime soon. All right, that's the end of my playing _pater familias_. I hope you didn't mind and understand it was written with nothing but love.

I'm afraid I must draw this letter to a close now but please don't hesitate or delay to write me back. I am your friend and though we may be far apart, I am, as always here for you.

Take care of yourself Amy and I mean that not as cliche but as deepest wish. You and Rory remain in my thoughts.

Love always,

Bracey


	63. May 1, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Personal Correspondance From Dr. Rory Williams to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

1st of May 1944

Dear Amy,

I'm sorry it's been a while since you've heard from me. I only now received word that my first letter to you was destroyed Censorship at its most extreme. I have no idea what I wrote that was so dangerous because they won't tell me. I can see this is going to be a problem so I'll try to be a touch more vague in this letter. I'm sorry for making you worry and for you having to go so long without word. I'll make certain, somehow, it doesn't happen again.

It feels good to be back on terra firma and God it feels good to be back in Britain even in the midst of war. The air here is different, as is the light and I'm surrounded by familiar accents. On the other hand, it's a shell, a hollowed out husk of the London it was and the London we know it will become. For those reasons alone I can't say that I wish you were here, I wouldn't ever want you to have seen this. You know me, I was never a raging patriot and have no fear I don't intend to start wearing the Union Flag on a t shirt but seeing our home like this...well it hurts. I didn't see much of the city when we disembarked, I was fairly exhausted and slept for most of the trip to St. Thomas's so I'd be rested for my shift.

My men were staying at the Red Cross Club while I am, for the time being, staying on the hospital grounds. Finding myself alone and with a few hours to kill I decided to go out and explore. Thank you for letting me use your old camera, I promise to take lots of pictures and send them back to you. You should do the same, it might make missing you and home slightly easier if I get inundated with photos with every letter. I've never done London as a tourist so I caught a cab and then set out on foot walking around until dark. It's not a joyous experience and I find myself feeling at times like I'm on a tour through a graveyard. Entire city blocks are missing. The frames of buildings jut towards the sky, charred corpses of what they once were. Not too long ago some soldiers had apparently dug up a German bomb that hadn't one off. The charge was removed and a slot inserted so that people could drop in coins in support of the war effort effort, rebuilding and widows and orphans. I dropped in a handful of cash. Saw Buckingham Palace with one entire wing leveled by bombs.

But it's not all grim. In typical American fashion the GI's here are determined to root out a good time wherever it may be. The pubs echo with music and laughter and dancing and though I don't participate, I do find myself sitting back, watching them enjoying themselves.

What about you, my love? How are you doing? I hope all is well. I hope you are treating yourself well, eating, getting enough sleep and writing your wonderful stories. There are so many adventures you and the Doctor shared that I wasn't privy to, just as I have many tales that you don't know. It occurs to me now, when I'm so far from you that I may have come off as secretive. I apologize. That wasn't my intent. I find myself wanting to shield you always from some of the ugliness I've seen. I always saw it as my cross to bear but I realize now it may have appeared dismissive or condescending towards you. Part of it is because I see no praise as being deserved for the years I spent protecting the Pandorica. I love you, I could do no less. Also...there are things I didn't want to tell you because I didn't want you to think less of me. You once asked me if I'd ever killed anyone. I have. I've killed in war. I've murdered out of self preservation. And now, here, where every night is the eve of battle I know I will have to kill again.

The Doctor and I talked about that once. The blood on our hands. I think he was surprised to actually find someone to discuss it with. We talked about guilt and remorse, forgiveness and atonement and stains that never wash clean. All of this one long night after you'd gone to bed. We didn't really come up with any answers.

I'm sorry, Amy. My thoughts are churning so I apologize if I'm rambling. My only point is, I should have been more open with you and perhaps we can share our stories with one another as we always should have.

I miss you. I'm trying to grow accustomed to waking and not finding you by my side. I imagine you too must find our bed lonely. Everyday spent here brings me one day nearer to being back with you. I love you across the span of time itself. Dream of me as I dream of you and perhaps one night we'll find one another there.

See you on Tuesday.

Love,

Rory


	64. May 2, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records **  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

2nd of May 1944

Dear Doctor,

First real scare of Rory's deployment. I haven't heard from him since he shipped out. I'm trying to keep calm and remind myself that the Army is nothing but prompt in sending out death notices. And that, no matter how important it is for frantic wives waiting at home, it is not a priority for the military to be on point where letters home are concerned. I check the mailbox everyday and I have to believe he's ok and that I'll hear from him soon.

Melody stayed with me a few days after we saw her Dad off. She seemed dismayed at the lack of food in the fridge and we went to the market. I'm not sure how but she produced several extra rationing books so we ended up buying a little more than normal. When I chastised her about inflation and where she'd even gotten them she just cast me a look that was so like Mels I started laughing. I hope you let her make you laugh Doctor. Both of you have such wonderful laughs.

I know domestic living isn't exactly your thing, but she and I had the nicest time cooking and being with one another. We turned on the radio and even started singing badly to Besame Mucho. I think we got distracted and that's probably how we ended up burning the soup, which for some reason at that moment seemed like the funniest thing in the world. I don't know what I'd do without her. I love being a mum.

I hope you have nights like that with each other. Just sort of humming about the TARDIS kitchen in pleasant silence. You don't have to fill every moment with your chattering, Doctor. Just enjoy the quiet, fix her dinner or if that's too daunting, whip up some fish fingers and custard, she'd love it, all Pond girls do and that's a fact. My daughter is a boisterous, adventurous, amazing, fearless woman who sometimes just wants a quiet evening with her husband. She told me that. We had quite a few earnest chats in the time she was here.

Lock the door, shut off the phone, turn off that big brain of yours and love your wife. Let her talk, let her reveal herself to you and let her cry if she needs to. She's so terrified to cry in front of you. So scared you'll think she's weak. We struggle so hard to stay young and fresh and strong for you. We fear your fickleness, your callousness, we don't want to be tossed to the rubbish pile. She never wants to show you the damage, Doctor. None of us do. The only reason I suppose I feel safe doing so now is because you're millions of miles and years away. My greatest fear was never seeing you again and since that's already happened, it's afforded me a sort of grim freedom.

Don't mention lines around the eyes Doctor, or pounds gained or creaking bones or slowing down. We already know, just as we know you're not saying it to hurt us rather you're saying it because it haunts you. Because you hate endings and you shiver at watching us decay. But it does hurt us, just like living in fear of being someone you used to know, _hurts_ us. I know you don't mean to, my love, but you can make us _so afraid_.

I love you, Doctor. I love you so much for aging for us. Yes, I noticed. I noticed how those gray hairs just magically sprouted one day. You said, I try to keep up. It may be one of the kindest things you've ever, ever done for us.

But there's damage, Doctor. There's so much damage and its not your fault, it's the risk we all took when we fell in love with you and the life we lead with you. But you have to be gentle, you have to be kind. We're only human.

So as a meddling mother-in-law I demand you take her in your arms and tell her its ok to be human. It's ok to grow older. Promise her you won't ever drop her off someday and never come back. Promise and then mean it. God forbid it, but what if you lost her Doctor? What if you lost her and you never told her all the things you feel? What if she wound up stranded somewhere far away with no way of ever seeing you again? What if you never had a quiet moment, alone with her in the kitchen laughing because you burned soup?

This wasn't even what I intended to write tonight. I think I got carried away. But if I was there, Rory and I would have taken you to have a sit down and discussed this with you in person and in detail. This will just have to do.

I love you, Doctor. I hope to have better news of and from Rory to tell you the next time I write. I sent off his carepackage awhile ago filled with socks and chocolate and books and a new journal and most importantly that wonderful paper Melody provided. I hope it catches up with him soon.

Love across the stars Doctor.

Love,  
Amy


	65. May 2, 1944 (A to B)

2nd of May 1944

Dear Bracey,

Let me settle your fears and say that I took no offense at all at you Dad-like tone. It was actually nice. I miss my Dad. He won't even be born for another five years or so. Sometimes it's nice to scolded, it reminds you you're cared about. I've been eating and taking exercise, but I admit when it comes to more than a walk I haven't really stepped out of the house yet. But I'm working on it. Still haven't heard from Rory but I'm trying to just stay calm and breathe.

Not much else really to report so I figured I'd answer your question about Rory and his old man comment. This is where things are going to get a bit weird so, hang on.

A long time ago, in a time that doesn't exist anymore Rory was a Roman centurion. No. Wait, I can't start there. I have to go back further. When I was little, just before the Doctor came there was a crack in my wall. But it wasn't an ordinary crack. It was a crack in the skin of time itself. It was a crack of forgetfulness and erasure. That crack, Bracey, it erased chunks of my life, it erased my parents. I didn't even remember them, it just swallowed them up and picked them out of my memory and I never even missed them.

Then one day, while travelling with the Doctor as adults, Rory and I wound up in 2020. It's not important why or what happened except that Rory died. Rory died saving the Doctor's life. And that crack, that crack from my wall well by then we'd started to realize it was everywhere, like it was following us. No matter where we went, we couldn't outrun it. The Doctor pulled me into the TARDIS and we left Rory's body outside. I watched, helpless as that horrible energy from the crack circled him and slowly removed him from time and from my memory. And then, it was like Rory had never existed. I didn't remember him. The Doctor did but I didn't. And yet somehow, in my head, he was still there. I would get so sad sometimes, like I had lost something. The most precious something in the world to me.

The Doctor and I kept travelling until we got a message from my daughter, except I didn't know she was my daughter then. We wound up in the year 102 A.D. (Still with me, Bracey? I know it's a lot to swallow.). Rory was there but I didn't recognize him and he wasn't exactly Rory, he was an auton, a sort of robot copy of himself. But he remembered me, and after awhile I remembered him but then he, quite accidentally shot me and then I died. Well, I was as the Doctor said, _mostly_ dead. We'd gone back in time because of something called the Pandorica which was crafted by the Doctor's enemies to imprison him forever. It's very timey-wimey to try and explain coherently how he got out. I'm not even sure after all this time that I understand it 100%, but he did. The Pandorica was the ultimate box and it was inescapable even by dying. So Rory and the Doctor put me inside, where I'd remain unconscious but safe until they could free me. The Doctor hopped ahead to the future. But Rory, my amazing Rory volunteered to stay behind, to watch over me and keep me safe.

Edwin, he looked after me in that box for 2000 years. That's how much he loved me. So yes, his Roman stories are very vivid and very real because they are all true. All of his stories are true and he is the best story of all. He's the smartest, bravest, most selfless man I have ever, ever known. I don't deserve him. He hates it when I say That but its true.

Oh, I'm crying now. I haven't gotten word from him yet and I really shouldn't have started telling this story before I knew he was ok. I'm afraid I'll have to leave it here, Bracey. Sorry for being abrupt. I'll write you again soon.

Love,

Amy

**Third entry I've written today. Maybe I'm anticipating being a bit tied up over Christmas or maybe I'm just writing because I'm feeling it and I love this story so much. I love you all for reading it as well. I'm panicking about what I'm going to do for the 50's and 60's, the WW2 stuff kinda writes itself. However, I do know how it's going to end. I did a rough draft of the final few pages a couple days ago. You won't see them for a long, long time, mind you but they're done. I never could write in linear fashion. Linear is boring. **


	66. May 5, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Personal Correspondance From Dr. Rory Williams to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

5th of May 1944

Dear Amy,

Hello, love! Your care package arrived yesterday and I'm already eager to make use of every item but most especially the paper. It's light, it feels as thin as tissue but I can tell it's durable as well. Clealy it's not earth tech which is why I assume you didn't send corresponding envelopes. Is it like psychic paper? I understand why you couldn't include any instructions and while I'm not entirely sure how it's going to work, here goes nothing.

I was starting to write to you, in fact, when I had an interesting encounter earlier this evening. London is dark come sunset and when I say dark I mean dark. The city is still under blackout if you walk too far down the wrong alley you can't even see the hand in front of your face. After getting a bit turned around I wandered until I found a pub.

I was sitting at a table in the back, writing and eating something the waitress called chicken though I think I'd dispute that, when I noticed someone sit down next to me.

Hello there.

I looked up from my letter.

Hello.

He was staring at my paper, strangely. I assumed he was just nosy and I pushed it to the side.

Not many people choose a noisy pub to write a letter.

He was American, perhaps a little younger than us with an open and friendly face. But there was something else behind his eyes that I couldn't place.

I'm just taking advantage of the electricity.

Understood. So, what's your name?

Major Rory Williams.

Pleased to meet you Major Williams.

I glanced at his clothing and frowned. By his accent I'd assumed him to be with a local unit but he was wearing the uniform of the RAF.

Rory will do.

Sounds good. So, Rory, where you from?

Manhattan.

He paused and looked me up and down.

Really? With that accent I could have sworn you'd be from Newport or maybe even Cardiff.

He was close. Surprisingly close and again I felt both of us sizing the other up.

No. Born and raised in New York. My parents were from Cardiff, I heard the accent around the house and I guess being here just brought it out more. What about you? RAF but you sound like you're from the States. Or rather you sound as though you're trying to sound like you're from the States. A bit mid-Atlantic, aren't we? Like Cary Grant or Gore Vidal.

He gave me a measured smile, a smile that made me nervous. We were both still trying to feel the other one out.

Interesting comparisons. Can I buy you a drink, Rory.

Only if I can buy you one.

He leaned back in his chair and laughed heartily, loudly and that in itself was very American. I didn't dislike it. It's more like I didn't know whether or not I could trust him.

He's a bomber and as we drank we talked about some of the missions he'd been on. I told him I'd served in Shanghai in WWI and he countered with having helped put down the Boxer Rebellion.

The Boxer Rebellion ended in 1901. Amy, that doesn't make sense and he just dropped the fact purposefully in the middle of our conversation, daring me to challenge the incongruity.

He rattled off something in Mandarin which I responded to easily.

Why do I feel as though you're testing me? I asked suddenly.

I don't know, Rory. I'm just making conversation. Say, there's a dance hall just up the road. Lot's of booze, lot's of girls, so I hear.

Not interested in girls.

Really? Well there's boys, too.

I mean, I'm spoken for.

Oh. The good ones often are. Is that who you're writing to, your sweetheart?

Wife, actually.

He glanced at the paper again saying, You must miss her an awful lot.

I do. Now, if you'll excuse me-

I had started to gather my things to leave but he stopped me.

Rory, sorry, it's ok. I didn't mean to pry. You don't have to leave. It's your table, I'll let you be.

Thank you, I said with relief. I didn't know why I had the sudden urge to get away from him.

You're welcome.

He stood to leave and smiled down at me.

Maybe we'll talk again.

I don't even know your name.

No, you're right, you don't.

And then he walked away. I can't say that I disliked him, he just made me uneasy.

What do you think? Have I just become extra suspicious of people? Mountain meet molehill, right?

Other than that, nothing unusual to report. My work in the hospital here is only slightly different than what I did at home. A lot of sad, wounded boys, all of them dying to go home even if not all of them are willing to admit it. I patch them up and send them back to the front. It's not the first time I've done that and it won't e the last. It's not even the first time I've worked at St. Thomas'. I was here in the 1300's caring for plague victims and those otherwise considered untouchable. Much of the old building has been destroyed and at least three ward blocks of the current building were hit by bombs but being hee is still familiar.

It's a little later 9PM in London which means it's just past 4PM in Manhattan. I don't exactly know how to send this. I don't know if you'll get it immediately but I'm just glad I'll be able to speak to you without fear of anyone else reading it.

I miss and love you, Amy.

Write back soon and see you on Tuesday,

Love,

Rory


	67. May 8, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records **  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

8th of May 1944

Dear Doctor,

The paper that Melody sent is a marvel. i wrote Amy a letter and as soon as I signed my name the text disappeared. The paper was totally blank like I hadn't written anything on it ever. I know she received it because within five or so minute the words, Got it! this is amazing! *squeals* I love you! Writing back now!, appeared in front of me. It's a little like chatting. In fact we talked like that for most of the night. One of us writing a line, the other responding. It's not perfect, sometimes it take a really long time for a message to get through. I can tell it's going to be a little buggy, we probably won't chat every night but it will be so nice when we do. It's the closest thing to paradise we have right now and it's grand.

Being here is like being inside a history book. Manhattan was always disconcerting in a similar way but not exactly like this. The Blitz, the reconstruction of London after the war is something we spent a great deal of time on in school. I did a report on it and I remember pasting black and white pictures to posterboard and giving a speech where I rattled off casualties and losses and reconstruction costs. Now I'm seeing it, in person.

St. Thomas'. I haven't been back there since the 13th or 14th century. It feels strange to be assigned to it again. It's that cyclical thing I've spoken about before I suppose. The universe has its own perverse sense of humor. This building is of course all new but the ruins of the place I recall sit within a stones throw. This place is ripe with ancient and bad memories for me. Of course many things change over the centuries but I could swear to you when its quiet I can still hear the monastic chants. The Te Deum. The Ressurexi. The Tui Sunt Caeli. I knew them by heart. I know them by heart though I haven't thought of them since that time so long ago when I became a postulant, took the vows and donned the habit.

Did I never tell you I was a monk, Doctor? Twice, as a matter of fact. I served at the Amesbury Monastery in the 300's. It was established near Stonehenge and I offered my services in its construction. I told Prince Ambrosius that I would work day and night to raise a glorious Abbey if he would permit me to have one section of the catacombs for my own. I asked that I never be disturbed nor questioned. I asked that my privacy and vow of silence be respected and honored. He agreed but only if I took the holy vows. Reluctantly I consented. In the beginning I built Amesbury by myself, brick, by brick by brick, essentially 24 hours a day. One night I dragged the Pandorica from the Underhenge and placed it in what would be the bowels of the building. After that several other men who also intended to join the order arrived to assist me. I didn't speak a word, only gave them a warning glance when and if they neared the Pandorica. I was the strangest of strange site. An untiring Roman soldier convert demonstrating what they perceived to be an unflagging devotion to God. My devotion is and always will be to Amy.

The monastery built, I took my vows and assumed my place at Amy's side. I rarely emerged except sometimes at night to look up at the starless sky. After 100 years I became legend, after 200 I became myth and I was left alone as I wanted to be. Even when the monastery was destroyed by the Saxons I remained, I left only when my service to the Empire required. Even then it was only to protect the Pandorica.

The Lutum Fecit  
The Ave Verum  
The Virgo Dei  
The Salve Regina

I never believed. Not really. But I still take a sort of comfort in hearing them. Well I suppose it's a mixture of comfort and fear. At once I am both transported back to a place of silence and peace. Just the Pandorica and I, each of us still as stone. But also there is that creeping fear. The fear of discovery, exposure, the fear that I may have to fight, again.

There's more but I don't want to delve into it right now.

I will say I'm glad to be writing to you again. I'm glad that my goodbye wasn't final. Sometimes I feel as though you're here with me. Like if I just turn my head quickly enough I'll catch a glimpse of you, sitting there, giving me that chuffed little smile of yours. Silly, I know. But I also know I carry you you in my head and I carry you in my heart and that's gotten me through some very trying times.

Take care of yourself, Doctor.

Love,

Rory


	68. May 11, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records **  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

11th of May 1944

I don't think I'll sleep very much tonight. I wish I had the Doctor to talk to, to ask for advice because I really don't quite know what to do.

I went to a completely different pub tonight, clear across town as a matter of fact and he was there again.

Hello, handsome.

I didn't look up until I realized he must be addressing me.

Oh, _I'm _handsome.

You certainly are. I'm a sucker for a big, strong, Roman nose. It usually speaks to a big-

Are you always this flirty?

I'm just saying Hello. Not writing a letter to your wife, tonight?

No...I just stepped out to get a little air.

Where are you staying?

St. Thomas'.

Patient?

Doctor, actually.

His eyes narrowed for a second.

I don't usually like, Doctors. But I like you.

You don't even know me. And I still don't know your name. Men usually have pretty sketchy reasons for hiding their names.

(Sorry, Doctor, you know I don't mean you.)

You're right. He extended his hand for me to shake it. Sorry for all the cloak and dagger. Captain Jack Harkness, is the name.

I shook his hand and waited for whatever was to come next.

So, you got a picture of your wife?

I never shrank from a chance to show off Amy. Reaching in my wallet I pulled out a recent picture.

Wow. You got yourself a looker there, Rory. And a ginger too. Is she from Manhattan as well?

Uh, yeah. Childhood sweethearts.

He stared at the picture a little longer.

Intelligent face. Kind eyes. Great gams.

That'll do. I said taking the photo back.

You want to go for a walk, Rory?

It wasn't that I was afraid of him. I felt pretty certain I could take him in a fight if push came to shove but I didn't want to have whatever conversation he wanted to have with me.

Not especially. I said warily.

He laughed. Come on, this won't take long.

Reluctantly I agreed. I stood up and followed him out of the pub and into the darkened streets of London.

So what are your orders?

Well, after I finish up at the hospital we're headed to Slapton Sands.

Really? After what just happened?

You mean the accident? I said choosing my words carefully. On April 28th just a bit after 12, three ships were waiting to start night training for Utah. A German sub on maneuvers had come out of nowhere and slaughtered them. 749 men died. At least that was the official story.

That was no accident, Major. That was the US and British armies doing what they do best. Covering up mistakes.

I didn't say anything, just continued walking at his side. It was so dark, I couldn't even see him anymore, could only feel and hear him to my right.

Of course you know that's not what I meant when I said, What are you orders. See I just can't figure you out, Rory. I scanned you and you're human enough. But nothing about you fits. The way you speak, your accent, your references. Don't get me wrong your Mandarin is impeccable and the Cary Grant mention was perfect and quite flattering, so thank you. But you slipped up with Gore Vidal, who I think at the moment is serving in the US Navy. it's hard, I know, trust me. But that combined with the GAP sweatshirt I saw over your wife shoulder slung over the sofa and the paper you were writing to her on lets me know you are not from around these parts. So I ask you again, what are your orders?

His tone now had an edge to it. I decided to counter with some of my own.

You're neither American nor British. There is no possible way you're the age you appear to be and you also put down the Boxer rebellion, so either you're lying or there's something else far more wizard going on here. And if your name is actually Jack Harkness, I'll eat my hat. I've never heard anything sound more made up. Are we done here? Because I'd really like to get back to the hospital, write to my wife and go to bed.

It was the fractals.

I'm sorry, what? I had turned to leave. The street was just as dark ahead of us as it was behind but I was tired of his company.

The fractals on the paper you were using. Not everyone can see them but Time Agents are trained to spot them. I can also sniff out psychic paper at 500 yards. You're not a Time Agent though are you, Rory?

I don't know what you're talking about. And even if I did, I wouldn't want to discuss it. I am Rory Arthur Williams, I am a Major in the United States Army. Serial Number O-8685860. I was born in the year 1905 in Manhattan, New York. That is _it_. That is _all_. That is the _truth_. Now, leave me alone.

I looked you up, Rory. And the thing is you don't exist. Oh, all the files and the records are there for you and your wife. Everything I could need, or ask for or request appeared promptly and with all the i's dotted and t's crossed. But none of it's real. Look, Rory, maybe I can help you. Come back with me and we can talk.

But I had already started to stride away from him. I didn't want to talk. I didn't know who or what he was, but he wasn't the Doctor. He couldn't help. And without the Doctor I felt vulnerable, worse yet I worried about Amy's vulnerability. I can fight what I can see and understand. But I don't have a sonic screwdriver or a vortex manipulator I don't even have those flash weapons hiding away in my hand anymore.

But now, sitting here writing this I'm kicking myself for not talking to him. Finding out who he is, where he came from, why he's here if he's stuck like we are. Perhaps...if he turned out to be a threat...neutralize him.

I'm turning into that man again.

The man who knows that every equation eventually comes down to kill or be killed.

And I hate him.

**Authors Note: Hey guys, I just wanted to get something out to you on Christmas Day. And I wanted to say how thankful and grateful I am to you all for following my little story. Every review, every follow, every PM, every favorite means an awful, awful lot. Thank you so much, Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas.**

** -Maribor**


	69. May 12, 1944

******Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Personal Correspondance From Dr. Rory Williams to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**Sent via Temporal Paper London UK- Manhattan US**

12th of May 1944

Amy? Are you there?

I'm here, Rory. How are you?

Better. Always better when I'm talking to you. How was your day, dear?

Good. Uneventful. Now what's wrong?

How do you mean?

Something's wrong, I can tell.

You can tell through temporal paper that something's wrong?

Am I right?

Yes.

Out with it. Are you ok? Are you hurt? Are you scared? You know you can tell me if you're scared. ...I'm scared.

What are you afraid of, love?

No changing the subject, it isn't about me, Major. Now tell me.

Remember that man I told you about?

The guy who was hitting on you at the pub?

Well, that's not exactly how I would describe it, but yeah. I saw him again.

What did he say?

Hello, handsome.

Oh, Rory, has it been so long since I've flirted with you that you've forgotten what it sounds like? I'll have to rectify that when you get home.

Very funny. He starts talking to me again and then he asks me to step outside.

For a fight?

No for a chat. He tells me that he scanned me and I'm "human enough" but that I don't make sense. He could tell I was writing to you on some form of timey-wimey paper. I showed him a picture of you and he recognized the GAP shirt in the background.

Oh my God!

He kept asking me what my mission was.

What did you do?

I countered, I told him he made even less sense than I did.

Rory, you don't think he could be-

He's not the Doctor. I don't know how I know that I just do. All I do know is that like us, he doesn't belong here.

How did it end? Are you safe.

I walked away from him. I told him I was human, I was from this time, I had no dea what he was talking about and to leave me alone.

Do you think he bought it?

I don't know. No. Probably not.

I notice you didn't answer me when I asked, Are you safe?

I'm ok, Amy. I'm fine. But I do need a favor. I need you to look him up on the internet for me.

Do you think he'll be there?

I don't know. I just have a hunch

I trust your hunches. Let me get my computer. Ok. Name?

Captain Jack Harkness.

Sounds made up.

That's what I said.

Ok give me a second.

Ok. Amy? Amy it's been a few minutes. did I lose you?

Sorry. Wait.

What is it? Tell me.

Nothing came up on him directly but I got taken to this website. It's old, hasn't been active since 2006.

What does it say?

It was run by this guy. Mickey Smith. Rory, the title of the website is called "Who is Doctor Who?"

What?

I'm going to the cached version first from the previous year. "Have you seen this man? Contact Clive." I think it's the Doctor. Not _our_ Doctor. I'm clicking sightings. 1880 Sumatra. 1912 Southampton...right before the Titanic sailed. 1963 the Kennedy Assassination. Rory there are photographs of him and drawings.

We looked up the Doctor before, why did none of this ever come up?

Don't know. This page is filled with people who've seen him, run into him, had experiences with him.

Traveled with him?

No, not so far. This is some sort of conspiracy website. Whoever Clive is I think he thinks the Doctor is bad.

Go to the most recent version.

Ok. This seems to be run by the Mickey bloke. Same title, guess he couldn't afford a domain name change. But now it's headlined as "Defending The Earth: Because Friend Stick Together". "Clive devoted his life tirelessly to seeking out the Doctor and now he's dead. Clive paid with his life. Maybe I'll be next. Bringing the truth is the most important thing in the world."

I don't understand.

Neither do I.

Does the website mention anything about Harkness?

Not that I can see so far but it does link to UNIT and something called Torchwood House.

Torchwood. That's an anagram of Doctor who.

You can rattle off anagrams that quickly?

Yeah, I can. Amy Pond can be turned into Mad Pony, which I think fits you perfectly.

LOL. Shut your face.

Tell me more about Torchwood.

Torchwood House. Hey, its in Scotland. But I don't get it. It just seems like a touristy place. It gives the history, who owned it. You can have a wedding held there. I think it's just an old house, Rory.

No, there's something more. So a search of Harkness brings up websites that mention the Doctor as well as a manor that's name spells out Doctor who when you rearrange the letters.

I don't think you should talk to him again.

Amy, I have to.

He can't help. What if he hurts you?

Perhaps I'd just have to hurt him first. What year was Torchwood House founded?

Owned by the McLeish family since the 1500's. Purchased by the Crown in 1893. So whatever it is, that and the link to UNIT mean it's at least a government affiliation. I'm going to write to Bracey, maybe see if Churchill knows anything.

Good idea. In the meantime, be careful alright? I don't know who this man is, I don't know what he's capable of. The only bright spot is that he has no idea what I'm capable of either.

Rory. What are you capable of?

Anything required to keep you safe.

Rory-

It's ok, Amy. Thank you for looking all that up for me. Your hand must be pretty tired from writing.

Not at all. I miss you.

I miss you too.

What happens for you next?

Next is training for the invasion.

D-Day.

Stop.

Stop what?

Stop looking it up on Wikipedia. I know that's what you're doing and it's only going to upset you.

I'm not. Are you going to be on Utah Beach or Omaha?

Amy.

Answer.

Utah.

200 people die there.

I'm not going to be one of them.

Promise?

I promise. You must be exhausted, it's nearing 2AM there.

And I'm betting you didn't sleep at all.

Guilty as charged.

I'm rubbish without you. My schedule's all mucked. I keep turning over in bed reaching for you but you're not there.

Me too. We haven't slept apart for over twenty years.

Twenty years.

Don't cry, love.

How did you know?

I always know. We're going to be ok. We're always ok. We're Amy and Rory. You should get some rest. We'll talk soon.

Ok. I love you, Rory.

I love you too. I love you so much, Amy. See you on Tuesday.

See you on Tuesday.

**If you want to check out the old BBC website I mention its still up and running. Just type in whoisdoctorwho in Yahoo or Google.**

**BTW I love that you guys guessed it was Captain Jack right from the start. I can't slip anything past you!**


	70. May 13, 1944

13th of May 1944

Dear Bracey,

I've got a request for you. I know you're busy and you've probably got loads of better things to do but you still have Churchill's ear don't you? If you do, I need a favor. I need you to ask him to write to me. Rory and I urgently need information and he's the only one we know who might be able to provide it. And yes, I realize that demanding the Prime Minister of Great Britain take time out of strategizing for a world war to speak with me is a tad presumptuous, but my brain just went, What the hell!

Just tell him, Amy Pond has a word for him. Just one word and I think he'll know what it means.

Torchwood.

Thanks Bracey, I'll write to you soon.

Love,

Amy


	71. May 18, 1944

_******Authors Note: This is a bit random but apparently Churchill wanted to be there for the Normandy invasion. Like front and center accompanying the forces on one of the boats and then right there on the beach! He spoke to an Admiral Bertram Ramsay so that Ramsay could draw up strategic plans to make that happen. Poor Ramsay had to take this insane request to General Eisenhower. To paraphrase the Doctor, then things got "insanerer" because it took no less than an intervention by the King himself to get old Winston to stay home. There is your pointless historical fact of the day. It made me chuckle.**_

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Personal Correspondence Sir Winston S. Churchill to Mrs. Amelia Pond Williams  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

18th of May 1944

PRIVATE

10 Downing Street

My Dear Mrs. Pond-Williams,

You certainly know how to get one's attention, don't you? I stand poised to accompany our forces to what may prove one of the greatest and most decisive battles the modern world has ever seen. I have Admirals on hold and I am delaying a conversation with President Roosevelt all to write you this letter.

Torchwood. I have a hunch as to why you know that word and I fervently wish you didn't. If you're asking me, I must assume it is because the Doctor neglected to tell you about their existence and their origins.

I first met the Doctor when I was 25 years old. He was a maniacal, arrogant man in a ridiculous overcoat with a pattern mimicking a circus tent and an umbrella like a color wheel. Loud, caustic, short tempered, self-absorbed, stubborn and in general a horses arse. I liked him immediately. I was a newspaper correspondent covering the second Boer War. I'd already made my share of enemies due to my writing and the Doctor and his young companion Peri saved me from an assassin's bullet. We subsequently got to know one another a bit better as we served time in a Boer prison. I met his second incarnation some years later in the First Great War, he was so different and yet I knew him almost immediately. Something about those eyes, eh? I met the umbrella man again, oh and I also met the other young looking one. The tall fellow with the brown overcoat, I also knew him by his eyes. So, counting your Doctor I've met four different versions of him and I've liked every one of them. And each one of them has helped me out of one sticky situation or another. I trust the Doctor, Mrs. Pond Williams and I trust you because he did.

Because I trust you, I am going to tell you several things I shouldn't.

The Torchwood Institute was established in 1879 by Her Royal Highness Queen Victoria to protect the Empire from dangerous alien influences. Part of what she perceived as that dangerous alien influence was our friend the Doctor. She had an encounter with him of an undetermined nature, knighted him and then banished him from British soil. She saw to it that a group was established to research possible alien influences and threats, the Doctor and his kind were determined to be enemies of the state. Torchwoods influence, some sixty years later has only grown. I understand they have had multiple off-world interactions, have acquired numerous alien technologies (which they have refused to contribute to the war effort) and they operate largely beyond both the government and the police. I have no influence over them, Mrs. Pond-Williams. Only his Majesty, King George has that power.

If you know their name, I must assume it is because they have made contact. If they have made contact, I fear you and your husband may be in grave danger. My power to offer you assistance is limited. What I can do is when I next meet with the King request that he make contact with Torchwood and express to them that you are not hostile, threatening or alien. Until then, keep a weather eye.

I will contact you as soon as time permits, either directly or through Bracewell. I wish you and Rory nothing but the best. Take care of yourself, dear Amy, these are dangerous times.

Keep Buggering On.

-Winston S. Churchill


	72. May 22, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Personal Correspondance From Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams to Dr. Rory Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

22 of May 1944

My Dearest Rory,

I received a reply from Winston himself. Apparently Torchwood does indeed have a connection to the Doctor and not a very good one. He somehow managed to upset Queen Victoria (what is it with him and royalty, anyhow?) and she, let me get this right, knighted him and banished him all in the same breath. Torchwood was established to keep tabs on the Doctor. They consider all aliens, The Doctor and people who consort with him to be a threat. That means you and me. Winston said he thinks we're in danger and that if they've made contact with you they may be planning something.

Please, Rory, stay safe. And stay away from Harkness. Winston promised to speak to the King for us as he's the only one with the authority to call them off but beyond that he made no guarantees. I wish I was there with you. We've always had one anothers back. I hate being split apart like this. I'm keeping this short because I want you to read it and reply as soon as possible.

I love you.

See you on Tuesday.


	73. May 23, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Personal Correspondence From Dr. Rory Williams to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

23 of May 1944

My Dear Amy,

I ended up working a double shift at the hospital which is why I'm only now getting back to you. As I was making my rounds we had an emergency situation. One of the RAF boys had engine trouble, crashed and then had the misfortune of landing in the midst of mustard gas field trials. He was rushed to St. Thomas' but it was already too late. It wasn't the gas, sulfur mustard is very rarely fatal but he'd been badly burned in the wreckage. By the time I got to him there was nothing I could do. I called his time of death and left to immediately come and write to you.

Amy, I recognized him and we won't have to worry about Harkness anymore. I can't take joy in another's man death but...God, you know I would have saved him if I could. I know you know that but I just have to see it written down on paper for your benefit as well as mine. In any case, I don't think it means Torchwood will have lost interest but perhaps it will take them time to regroup. Perhaps they'll decide we're just not that important. In the meantime my last day here is tomorrow. I'm off to Slapton Sands.

Fourteen days until Normandy.

I imagine the eye roll I must get when I write this but, Don't worry bout me, love. I'm alert, I'm ready and I'll be fine.

Can I also add just how cool it is to have a wife with connections to Churchill and by proxy the First Head of the Commonwealth, The Last Emperor of India, good old Bertie himself, King George. I don't tell you nearly enough, you're a remarkable woman.

I'll write soon, more than likely on the four hour jeep ride I have ahead of me. In the meantime, lets both try and get some sleep, ok?

I love you.

See you on Tuesday.

Love, Rory.


	74. June 6, 1944 D-Day (Rory)

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams  
**  
June 6th, 1944  
6:45 AM

This is my first opportunity to write in what feels like forever and it may be my last for awhile. All I've been able to manage for Amy are a few sentences here and there. My attempt at soothing her nerves and her worry. She's told me she understands, she has the patience of a saint sometimes. But I still feel guilty.

We spent the past few days engaging in dry run after dry run, seeking nothing short of precision and perfection. And now here we are, riding on gray seas towards the coast of France, surrounded by massive flotillas and on either side of us and more bombers than I've ever seen above.

We'll make landfall in about an hour and a half. At least some of us will.

I am always nervous on the eve of war. It's never a quiet night for me. So of course here I sit, trying to comfort my men while also trying to calm my own mind. It's always at times like this I feel as though I'm surrounded by children. Scared boys playing at war games. They're all either taking quietly, vomiting loudly, writing letters and sending what they fear may be their last check home to their wives.

When I was young, properly young, joining the military had never, ever even been on my radar. It wasn't a consideration. When I woke up as a Roman I was petrified. I had no idea what to do or how to do it. I wasn't exactly freaked out by accepting authority as I'd done so on more than a few occasions at hospital. But this was entirely new.

But I learned and I learned quickly. More than that I grew to like it. The years I spent protecting the Pandorica made me battlehardened. To paraphrase Palahniuk, I started off as a wad of cookie dough and by the time it ended I was carved from wood.

The boys looked to me for answers and I offered them truth which they take as boastful confidence.

How do you think it's going to turn out, Doc?

We're going to win. This war will be over in not much more than a year.

You sound pretty sure of that, sir.

That's because I am.

They'd glance among themselves. For some of them this was good news, for others another year of this was horrific.

Do you have a sweetheart, sir?

A wife. Yes.

This is my girl.

Then they'd pull out a worn photo of a freshly scrubbed bright eyed young woman who had just as much idea of what she'd gotten herself into as her newlywed husband. That was Amy and I once.

She's very pretty. Stay sharp so you get to go home to her, understood?

Understood. Are you afraid, sir? They'd ask, tentative shame creeping into their eyes.

A very wise man once told me, anyone who isn't afraid at a time like this would be a fool. You're no fool, are you?

No, sir.

Well, that's sorted then, isn't it?

They'd smile then, at ease that I'd given them..what? Permission to be human.

Sometimes I'd tell them a story. I'd say it happened during my time in Shanghai when actuality it was around 1066 at The Battle of Hastings. I'd come upon a young man under my command on the verge of committing suicide. The Viking onslaught was preceded by their vicious and deserved reputation. The young man, boy really, Calidhaan could see no hope, no chance of victory and rather than prove himself unworthy before his death on the battlefield he thought it more fitting to die by his own hand. I soothed him and talked him down. I gave him hope. I told him that a misguided sense of honor was never a reason to give up on life.

What happened to Cal? They'd ask.

Cal came through. He fought through his fear. He fought with his fear and he lived. He went home, got married, I still get letters from him every now and then. He's doing great. have faith, it's ok to be scared but don't let it command you. remember Cal.

How did the Doctor put it? That was a clever lie. Anyone could tell it was a clever lie.

Calidhaan was cleaved in two in battle by a broadsword. I saw it happen and by the time I found time to reclaim his body it had been trampled into unrecognizable gore by the hooves of advancing horses.

But who would that have inspired? Telling these tales left me feeling nauseous, it was like offal on my tongue.

And still as sick as I felt, I was eager and that sickened me all the more. Another part of me clicked awake during these times, I thought clearer, I moved faster, I anticipated two, three, ten steps ahead. I was good at this, no...actually I was great at this. I hated the truth that somehow, I was born for battle. I thrived in it and while the men around me watched the clock nervously I was looking at it in anticipation.

Glancing over their faces I wondered who among these boys wouldn't make it. Which ones of them would die before anything even truly started like Calidhaan?

I'll be 40 years old in nine months. The Korean War begins in six years at which time I'll be inching towards 50. Given that conscription cut off is 35, this in all likelihood will be my last great war. I both fear that and welcome it. My thoughts are so dark sometimes I dare not even tell Amy. I can't begin and wouldn't dream of presuming how the Doctor felt. I don't know if he felt the call and the confusion and the excitement and the terror and the self loathing all at the sight and notion of blood. But if he did, if I'm feeling even a sliver of what he dealt with on a daily basis, then my love and esteem for my best friend again grows beyond measure.

For now I wait. Helpless to do anything more than shuffle as many of them around this ship as I can, bring them as far away from the coming impact.

The low, bracing thud of the mine terrifies them.

I am already awake and on my feet.


	75. June 6, 1944 D-Day (Amy)

**_Authors Note: First off, I hope everyone had a Happy and safe and awesome New Years and I'm so glad to have you all back with me in 2013. Grad School resumes for me in about two weeks so I'm going to try and post as often as possible on Epistolary and finish up Come And Knock On Our Door before real obligations start screeching at me. I'd love to post once a day, that may be a tad ambitious but we'll see. Allons-y._**

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

6th of June 1944

Dear Doctor,

I couldn't make up my mind for the longest whether to write to you or to Rory. Ultimately I decided on you because he's living it, he won't need a play by play. But I need someone with me as this progresses. I need someone to wait with me.

Doctor, hold my hand.

Rory told me not to follow along via Wikipedia and accounts from the day but I can't help it. It's nearly 5 in the morning, Spartacus, is snoring loudly at my feet and I'm sitting here with about 12 browser windows opens switching from story to story to story of surviving soldiers. I'm on my 4th cup of coffee, maybe. I don't know, I've lost count but the shaking of my hands could certainly tell a tale. I couldn't sleep if my life depended on it.

It's a little before 10 AM where Rory is, gray and cold. The sea was rough when he landed and there was a haze coming in from off the channel both weather and smoke so thick it steered them off course. Some Allied forces had already arrived but they were nearly impossible to see as the fog closed densely in. Occasionally he should have been able to see the shores of Normandy, ships, tanks, small houses ablaze. The noise must have been deafening. The gun fire, the bombs, the shells, the plane engines.

Hold on Doctor, switching pages.

Someone in the same division as Rory recollects that a little after 8 a blast rocks the ship. The man telling this was a member of the Coast Guard and says that, "Me and about 30 other guys were hustling to the troop compartment when an officer I didn't recognize told us to hot foot it back to where we came. He said they needed us to unload the ramps for the tanks. A few us looked kind of confused but he said he was countermanding our orders and to get out of here, right now. One of the guys apparently did know him and said, "Ok, Doc." and we headed back the other way. Not two minutes after that we get thrown off our feet. Turns out we hit a German mine. We tried to get to our feet but got thrown down again when we struck a second one. All of a sudden all around me there was fire and shrapnel. It sliced into my face and my arm, I nearly lost my eye but me and the guys got off lucky. Everybody in that troop compartment where we were headed took the worst of it. They were trapped, it was like a fire bomb and they went up like kindling. if it hadn't been for that officer that would have been us. I don't know his name."

That was him wasn't it, Doctor? That was my Rory.

The mine blast apparently threw or throws, I'm struggling with my tenses here, everything into chaos. Men got blown into the water, badly burned, knocked unconscious and there's an unexpected amount of time needed to tend to the wounded. Screaming. Yelling. Confusion. Agony. I keep seeing these words over and over and over again. I should be grateful he's not on Omaha beach and I am. Those stories are even worse. The men tell of hunkering down in the water, crouching behind beach obstacles, wary of their own ship burning behind him and the snipers taking aim from the cliffs above. Trapped in the kill zone, their only hope is to wade out and reassemble in small groups elsewhere on the beach. Utah isn't as heavily defended, especially where they land and the fog that ends up putting them off course turns out to be a blessing in disguise.

And still I hate that he's there.

Spartacus is whining to go out and though I'm hesitant to leave I'm going to step away for awhile.

_6:25 AM_

I saw a stack of morning papers land outside a newsstand as Spartacus and I were out just now, Doctor.

The New York Times proclaims:

**ALLIED ARMIES LAND IN FRANCE IN THE HAVRE-CHERBOURG AREA GREAT INVASION IS UNDERWAY**

I picked up a copy but I haven't looked through it yet. It can't tell me anything I don't already know. It can't tell me what I need to know.

It should be almost 11:30 where Rory is and every account I read said they secure Utah beach by noon and then begin the 6 mile march to Cherbourg.

I pray he's ok. Nothing left to do now but wait as always.

_8:55 AM_

Doctor, I just got word from Rory. It was only a few lines but it appeared on the paper a moment ago. It was scrawled and lopsided and written in obvious haste but it was him.

_Amy, I'm ok. Marching, exhausted, wary but ok. Shut off the computer and sleep, love. I know you haven't. Doctor's orders! More later. Love you. See you on Tuesday_.

For once I'm going to listen to one of you and try and go to bed.

Spare a happy thought for us.

Love across the stars, Doctor,

Amy

**Guys, 2012 was a great fan fiction year for me. Like awesomesauce-great and that's really due to all of you. Special year end shout outs, first to my regulars: thena-ditey, the ever-helpful Orchidellia, my1alias, swordsandstories, Into The Vortex-2, and liebedero. Also, Electric-Purple, Web of Obsidian, Ashlee Pond, KLR, whovian-halfbloods, lacetnoir, whovian1998, ceeare, Witchy Bee, Kayceein, Kirayoshi a few people I've seen mention the story on Twitter and all the anonymous guests. Hope I didn't forget anybody! Thank you guys so much, I appreciate every kind word, every review, every favorite!**


	76. June 7, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Personal Correspondence From Dr. Rory Williams to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

7th of June 1944

My Dearest Amy,

I'm safe. Completely knackered or cream-crackered as Dad used to say, filthy, a little scraped up but completely and utterly fine. At the moment I'm laying in a ditch but trust me it's not as bad as it sounds. We're taking a deserved rest, a few hours of sleep and then up again tomorrow morning advancing towards Cherbourg.

I'm sure you were keeping yourself up to date via the internet even though I asked you not to, so I'm going to assume you're familiar with the absolute chaos on the ship. I helped put out as many fires as I could, tended to the wounded and dressed their burns. But soon it was time to take the beach. We weren't nearly as close to shore as we had expected and we all ended up jumping into 10 to 15 feet of water. We lost our bearing immediately but eventually started to kick for shore. We paddled and swam exhausted and flushed with adrenaline until we reached the pebbled beach. I've never been under that kind of fire before, bullets whizzing and pinging all around me, striking the water, ricocheting off our helmets, hitting the men. There was barely time to rest or breathe. We wove in and out of the obstruction beams and Rommel asparagus and I ordered the men to take cover behind the seawall. We lost a few just in that moment, struck down by machine gun fire, joining the bodies that already lay upon the sand, that would be washed out to sea when the tide came in. The first order of business was to guide our three artillery batteries into firing position. Next we needed to clear a path for the infantry, I called for minesweepers to patrol the bare areas that were almost certainly planted and booby-trapped with explosives.

The German forces neglected to clear good fields of fire but they were prepared with fortified pillboxes, bunkers, mortar pits, rocket launching sites. I have to admit there were moments when I wasn't sure if I was going to ever get off the beach. It felt like hell. It felt like limbo.

The 82nd and 101st Airborne was screaming above us. Waco gliders. Horsa's. Paratroopers landing all around us. Supply boxes. Amphibious and armored tanks. It was organized madness.

I stopped when I could to take care of the wounded, becoming more field medic than doctor. I bandaged them up, got them moving when I could told them to crawl or dragged them to cover when it was possible, all the while trying to move my men forward, out of the kill zone.

Everything today was so random, so arbitrary. It isn't as if I haven't seen it before but one moment I'd be talking to someone and the next they'd take a bullet between the eyes. There's no God here, Amy. There's nothing but the brutality and the blind luck of life and death. What they don't tell you is that war isn't just this calculated game of advancing or retreating, gaining and losing ground. It's about terrible mistakes and fortuitous blunders. It's about rifles that jam and M-1's exploding in your hand. It's about sliding doors and an inch to the right or left being the difference between you or your dog tags making it back home.

Oh, God, have I said too much. I'm sorry, Amy, I'm sorry. But sometimes I think if I don't tell you the truth you'll imagine far worse. My rifle did jam at one point but I tossed it and picked up a carbine and forged on.

After what felt like hours we got far enough to have reached the cliff face and the daunting hills. From there we had to climb or crawl was more like it. We'd trained for it, it wasn't a surprise but that didn't make it any easier. Second and Third waves stormed the beaches behind us and I knew the shells flying over our heads were landing on or near them. We didn't know what we'd find at the top and I halted them just before we cleared the ridge. We waited, rested for a moment and another man and I went on ahead before giving them the all clear.

From there we were confronted with the strange and odd incongruity of nature, it continues on despite the carnage around it. We found ourselves in a field, spacious green, with birds singing overhead though they could barely be heard over the explosions.

We're pushing inland, ever inland, driving the Germans back. But for now, we rest.

There was another incident, Amy, but before I tell you I don't want you to worry. I promise you everything is fine, weird, but fine and I do have a story to tell you. Not now, I'm too exhausted and frankly I don't know all of it yet.

I think we were wrong about something.

As I was climbing the cliff, near the very top I lost my footing. It was a stupid, stupid mistake on my part. I probably wouldn't have died, but I might have been badly injured. Instead a man I hand't even known was there reached over the top, grabbed me by the arms and pulled me to safety.

I was about to thank him when he said two words. Just two.

Hello, handsome.

Amy I'm fine, and I swear I'm not intentionally leaving you with a cliffhanger, but I'm exhausted. I'm going to close my eyes for an hour or two and then we're right back at it.

I will write you as soon as I can.

I love you more than anything and I will see you on Tuesday.

For now, both you and I need sleep.

Love,

Rory


	77. June 12, 1944

PRIVATE

10 Downing Street

12 of June 1944

My Dear Mrs. Pond-Williams,

The Liberation of Europe has begun! As you have now no doubt heard the Allies are besting Hitler's army and driving them deeper towards the interior. We anticipate a free France by months end. I had wished to watch this great theater from the _HMS Belfast _but was convinced by Admiral Ramsay that it was best to remain safely ashore.

But now, some six days after our boys stormed the shores of Normandy I am touring our successes on the beachhead. The sun is shining, and I cannot help but feel the tide has inexorably turned in our favor.

To the matter that most concerns you. I spoke to His Majesty towards the end of May and was assured by him that he would dispatch brief correspondence to Torchwood immediately. If all went as planned, you should have no further trouble from them.

I must now regrettably cut this letter short. You and your husband remain in my thoughts.

KBO.

Yours,

Winston S. Churchill


	78. May 20, 1944

**_Curators Note: Though they are not mentioned by name, we have every reason to believe this is the correspondence referred to by Sir Winston Churchill regarding Doctor Williams and Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams. While we do not have the original letter we have been able to provide this draft. We consider it an especially treasured selection in this already remarkable series of letters. While chronologically out of order an executive decision was made to place it where it best fit in the narrative. We wish to make it clear we are not reading this correspondence, this was a discrepancy noted by our computers. If this was an incorrect choice then we most humbly beg the Doctor's pardon._**

20th of May 1944

It has come to my attention that two individuals have recently found themselves under your surveillance. All attempts to contact, capture, interrogate or neutralize will cease. They are not a threat. They are citizens of the Commonwealth and remain under the protection of the Crown.

I trust that in this, as in all things, you will obey.

-George R.I.


	79. June 17, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

18 of June 1944

Dear Doctor,

I only hear from Rory now in short burst. Dribs and drabs of messages that say,

I'm ok.

Finally at St. Lo

Reached Ste. Mere-Eglise.

Arrived at La Madeleine.

I miss you. I love you. I miss you.

I want more, I crave more from him and I find myself checking what seems like every few minutes.

I write back to him in quick messages as well. I don't want to drone on and run the risk of distracting him. I mostly tell him to stay safe, be careful and how much I love him.

This is one of the reasons why you shouldn't travel alone, Doctor. I couldn't live without these short messages from Rory and he from me. You need someone to touch base with, someone to care about you, someone to tell you they love you. I hope Clara looks after you. I know Melody does. But since it never hurts to say it, I love you too.

I've started having Sunny over for tea every now and then. I even apologized to her for neglecting her so. After all she needs me too but she'd have none of it.

You're worried about Rory, I understand. It's the same way I was...

She trails off then, unable to finish the sentence and I hug and comfort her as best I can.

I feel strange lying to her but I don't have a choice. She likes to hear Rory's letters and I have to pretend that they arrive in the post. I have to feign frustration with the Victory mail censorship and delays. I have to make sure I have a stack of ready-to-send envelopes visible when she arrives so it looks like I'm writing to him faithfully and quickly before the postman arrives at three so I can send my latest off.

It reminds me of just how lucky I am. Luckier than any other wife waiting to hear from her husband. Then of course I feel terrible for my frustration at only getting a word of two from him everyday. How quickly we slip into complacency, Doctor. How fast we slide down into being ungrateful. I'm working on it, believe me.

I read her Rory's letters, censoring as I go along and it feels nice, it feels good to speak in his voice and hear his words fill the flat again.

How did you meet? Sunny asks me and I realize it's never come up before. I think we're just so naturally secretive, Doctor, he and I don't even think about it anymore.

I struggle to think of the American equivalent before answering.

In first grade.

She beams at me. People always think that's cute.

Love at first sight?

Oh, God, no! I saved him from some bullies. He seemed nice enough so I thought we should be friends.

You saved him? She asked with amusement.

Yeah, but trust me, he's made up for it ten-fold.

So you've been friends forever then?

Yeah, just about. I think that's part of why we work, why we've almost always worked, because we're friends.

Was there ever anyone else?

I pause. How to answer? How do I ever answer this question?

There was! She exclaims conspiratorially.

I smile, happy the gossip has broken her out of the doldrums temporarily. And also I'm just happy to remember.

Yes, there was. He stole me away for awhile...or I let myself be stolen.

Was he handsome?

Very.

Was he big and strong?

Forgive me, Doctor but I started giggling at that.

No, he was actually really thin and gangly and awkward. Terrible dresser and even worse dancer.

She makes a face but I continue on, imagining I'm soothing your affronted feelings. Even though I know you'd only be pretending.

He didn't look like your typical big brute of a strong guy like Burt Lancaster.

Who?

Sorry, guess he's a couple years out. Um...but he was smart and cool and collected and clever, he was so very clever.

At that point she leaned closer and lowered her tone. The kids were playing in the other room but I had a feeling she would have done it whether they were there or not.

Did you and he...?

I must have blushed because she clapped a hand over her mouth and giggled. I laughed along with her. I'm almost 40 and you still make me blush.

It was a very long time ago.

Does Rory know?

Yes, he knows. No secrets between Rory and I.

Was he older than you.

Yeah, by a bit.

It's always the older guys who can turn a head isn't it?

They can indeed.

So what happened?

Oh, lots of stuff. A lot of back and forth, a lot of pushing and pulling.

Did they fight over you?

Something like that, yeah.

What finally helped you make up your mind?

I realized it's always been Rory. It will always be Rory. I chose him in the way that he always chose me.

I think you made the right choice.

I know did.

Do you ever think about the other guy? What was his name?

John. John Smith.

Do you ever think about John?

I pause again. How to answer? I offer her the only semi honest response that she'll understand.

Every now and then. Mostly I just hope he's ok.

Is he fighting in the war?

He's off fighting somewhere.

Did you love John?

A final pause.

Yes. I loved John. Let me freshen up your tea.

You see Doctor, I've started bringing conversations to a close just like you used to. I try to be a little more delicate but there is the definite clang of a gate crashing down, signaling I'm done talking about this.

Sunny took it in stride and we changed subjects.

I like having her here, she's my mate and it's a distraction from waiting for the next word from Rory.

The first few days I was driving myself crazy about this Harkness business. I thought, it's just Rory's strange luck to have made it through D-Day and then get cut down by a...what? Vigilante? Assassin? Alien hunter? Writing it down makes it look even more ridiculous than just thinking it.

I can only assume Rory was mistaken that day in the hospital. He thought it was Harkness who died, but he said himself he was badly burned. That's an easy enough mistake. But why is he there, right there to 'save' Rory? What are the odds of that? I trust Winston. I trust Torchwood was told to back off. Most of all I trust Rory. He keeps telling me everything is ok, weird but ok. Like I said, I trust him, but things won't be ok until he's back here safe and sound with me.

Love across the stars, Doctor.

Love, Amy


	80. June 19, 1944

_**Hey guys, this was pretty hard to write. Mainly because I want to release information from Jack to Rory and vice versa very, very slowly. I kept going back and forth about what I wanted each of them to say. I think its alright but I'm not sure. I don't know, I'm nervous about about setting my own canon down in stone. But, eventually you just have to bite the bullet and post.**_

_**Also, I'm taking a little deviation. **__**(Well, it's a deviation to the best of my knowledge. Confession: I haven't actually seen Torchwood yet. I'm saving it for a time when I inevitably contract Swine Flu or Smallpox or Mad Cow and have to be quarantined in bed for a few days. Then I'll happily watch all four seasons and maybe by then Davies will have started filming a 5th. So what I know about Jack outside of DW comes from the TARDIS Wiki)**_ Basically my idea is that Jack would be pissed with the Doctor. Like really pissed, I mean he left him. He knew he was there and alive and he left him anyways as he admits in "The Parting of Ways".

_**"That's why I left you behind. It's not easy, just looking at you, Jack. 'Cause you're wrong."**_

_****__**To quote River, That's cold, even by his standards, that is cold. He abadoned because he made him feel oogy. Really? **_

_**No****w, Jack doesn't know for sure that he purposefully stranded him, but he has reason to suspect. He had like 100 plus years to get over it and by TPOW's he is at peace. ****BUT I still think he'd be incredibly upset and bitter initially. **_

_**Ok, enough blather. Hope you like it. Allons-y!**_

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Personal Correspondance From Dr. Rory Williams to ****Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams and The Doctor**  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams

19th of June 1944

Dear Amy and Doctor,

I couldn't decide which one of you to write to so I finally settled upon both. I don't truly know where to start but even though I don't know how much time I'll have to finish this letter I'm inclined to start at the beginning.

Where did I leave off? I assume with, Hello, handsome.

He dragged me over the cliff and I just stared at him for a few seconds.

Ok, he was dead.

Now he wasn't.

I can accept that.

No time to think about it now.

Into position. Get behind me, Harkness.

In a different situation that would be the perfect sentence.

Harkness, now!

He did as I said and we made our way through the grassy fields of the French countryside. We went for nearly four hours before getting the opportunity to speak again. We took shelter behind a farmhouse but I knew we couldn't stay there long. After a roll call, a check of my men and bandaging up some superficial injuries, I was able to return to him

If you're here to help, keep your rifle handy and follow my orders. If you're not, then run back to the RAF. And if you're here to kill me, could you at least wait until I get my men to Cherbourg? I have a responsibility to them.

I'm not going to kill you, Rory. And technically, given the fact that we're in combat, you outrank me, so I'll follow your orders...sir.

I gave him a curt nod and we continued on.

Things sort of went on like that, there wasn't really time to stop and chat until we hunkered down in ditches and foxholes for the evening. I was exhausted but still incredibly curious.

How old are you, Rory?

39.

No, I mean how old are you really?

I doubt you'd believe me if I told you.

Then lets start with something simple, where were you born?

You first.

He sighed, finally realizing I was not one to give much ground.

Boeshane Peninsula, it's an earth colony in the 51st century.

He waited, expecting some sort of reaction from me but I just catalogued the information and nodded. Of course inside I was reeling.

Leadworth, it's a little village, not far from Cardiff.

I know where Leadworth is.

Late 20th century. 1989 to be exact.

I glanced at him but he only nodded. In a card game where we were both playing things so close to the vest I wondered if anything real would ever get revealed.

How did you get here? I asked.

I was abandoned. He answered bitterly. You?

Weeping Angel.

In Leadworth?

In Manhattan. My wife and I were there in 2018 and we got zapped back.

He furrowed his brow.

There are worse ways to go, I suppose. But that's it? That can't be the entirety of the story.

Why do you say that?

Like I said, I scanned you, Rory. You're not new to this whole time travel thing. In fact you're a rather complicated space/time event. In _fact _ you're bursting with residual vortex energy. To some species or just to people who knew what to look for, you practically glow in the dark. Your wife is rather impressive too, but she's a nightlight compared to you. An Angel doesn't do that.

What do you know about my wife? I was suddenly so frightened for you Amy I didn't know what to do.

We scanned her as well. One of our operatives bumped into her while she was at market in Manhattan. Resulted in nothing more than a bruised tomato or two on her end but we got the reading we needed.

I'm telling you this once, only once and trust me, I am not a man accustomed to repeating myself. If you don't stay away from my wife, I will kill you myself. What I kill stays dead.

He only smiled. He didn't look scared at all. In fact he looked at me admiringly.

Nothing about you makes sense, Rory. Everything I can see was put together like some sort of strange puzzle. Does that bother you? That your life doesn't fit? I guess not, you seem to have come to terms with it impressively.

At my raised voice my men stirred around me with hushed choruses of, Easy, sir. And, Maybe you should just back off, Captain and leave the Doc alone.

It's alright, guys. Get some sleep. I said but I never took my eyes off Harkness and he continued. It was stupid and dangerous to let my anger take over like this. I was putting everyone in jeopardy. Harkness continued in a hushed tone.

That's another reason why your Angel story doesn't make gel. You have a history, a very detailed history that would require a very talented forger to manufacture. Pre-manufacture as a matter of fact. Not to mention your wife apparently has the ear of the Prime Minister and the King. Torchwoods official orders are to stand down and not just now, but in perpetuity. The others might have missed that very carefully crafted sentence but I didn't. 'They remain under the protection of the Crown.' How did two kids from a one stoplight town in the future manage all that?

Who abandoned you here? I countered.

His jaw tightened.

A selfish bastard. An asshole, through and through. But I wasn't abandoned here. I made it _back_ here and now I'm stuck... for the time being.

So you hunt aliens?

He chuckled softly.

Not exactly. I investigate things and I try to help when I can. I'm not even officially with Torchwood at the moment. I'm a free agent. Right now I am exactly what I appear to be, a pilot in the RAF...at least for the time being. You don't seem all that impressed that I'm back from the dead.

My wife, my best mate and myself have all managed it. I said dryly. I guess in my old age I'm getting a little harder to impress.

Pardon? Now he was the one who looked curious.

Nothing.

How long have you been here?

About five years now and you?

I got here in 1869 so...75 years now.

I looked at this young man who couldn't be more than 30 something, maybe 35.

It occurred to me the impossible things were were whispering to each other out in the open and I needed to bring it to a stop.

I need to write my wife and turn in. Long day tomorrow.

Understood.

So, are you sticking around?

Yes, sir.

Then get some rest, Doctors orders.

He paused and seemed to be considering something.

Let me amend an earlier statement. I said I was abandoned by an asshole. That's more of a personal opinion not a general one. He's not what Torchwood says he is but he's also not what his fucking fans say he is either. All the people who fawn and keen over having met him...none of them get it.

Anything you say. I replied noncommittally. I did my best to sound disinterested.

Amy, I realize both of you are probably wondering why I haven't mentioned the Doctor. I just don't want to tip our hand. Is it a hand? I don't even know. I wanted to know what he knew first.

How did you even know what a Weeping Angel was? Harkness had rolled over facing away from me when he asked this over his shoulder.

My wife and I worked for Unit. Under Kate Stewart. I said quickly. It was the most convincing lie I could come up with.

Harkness nodded, it seemed to satisfy him.

There's more. A lot more but I really have to get some sleep.

I love you both.

Amy, I'll see you Tuesday.


	81. June 20, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Personal Correspondance From Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams to Dr. Rory Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

20th of June 1944

Dear Rory,

Don't trust him. Just don't. I remember this woman bumping into me at the market not that long ago. I didn't think much about it and she was polite and apologetic but now...it just gives me chills.

Maybe whoever 'abandoned' him had good cause. I know you're not naive and I do trust you, but sometimes I wish you'd just stop giving people the benefit of the doubt. You're just so _nice_. I know, I know and I'm so Scottish. Tease me all you like but I'm less interested in the mystery of who this man is and more concerned with getting you back home. Think about all we've seen Rory. We're probably surrounded with people and aliens from the future all the time. And yet the world still turns and I still need you back with me.

I know what you're thinking. It crossed my mind too. What if he knew the Doctor. But I just don't think its likely. The past. The future. The present. They're all pretty big places and I know the Doctor is pretty big too but he's just one man. Plus, it wouldn't be _our _ Doctor.

Enough about Harkness for the moment. How are you? Are you ok? Everything I've read online says that Cherbourg is madness, empty streets, hollowed and burned out buildings, an entire city terrified and gutted by the Nazi's. I know you win, but just be careful.

I miss you. I know you know that, but how could I not say it? It isn't easy sleeping alone, waking up suddenly in the night and thinking you're there only to find the other side of the bed empty. I've been thinking a lot about us lately. Maybe it's the business with Harkness. Maybe its because I know what's happening right now in Germany, in the camps. I know what the world is soon to find out. Maybe its just because I miss you and Melody and the Doctor.

But whatever it is, whatever the reason, I want us to embrace life and expand our family. We talked about adoption before you left but, then we sort of tucked the brochures away. I understand, I think you knew this was coming. I think you knew you'd be away and either we'd get halfway through the process and have to stop, or we'd make it all the way through and I'd be here raising our child by myself or maybe you were just afraid something would happen to you over there...

No matter what the reason or whatever was holding us back before, this is me saying yes. I want to do it. I don't care about the age or the race. I don't care if it's a boy or a girl, I don't care about the nationality, the religion, I don't care about any of it and I know you don't either. None of it matters. The only thing that does matter is you and I having a child...maybe even children like we planned. I think Melody is mature enough to handle a little brother or sister, don't you?

If you're getting back on Tuesday then I want to get started on Wednesday. I don't want to wait any longer.

Ok, just wanted to get that off of my chest and maybe give us something else to look forward to.

I know you must be surrounded by death. I wanted you to remember and think about _life_.

What do you say to that?

Oh and in case you forgot, because you are a might busy, five days until our 15th wedding anniversary. Fifteen years of being married, Mr. Pond, and thirty three years together.

I think we're making a go of it, don't you?

I love you.

See you on Tuesday,

Amy


	82. June 23, 1944

_**My knowledge of German begins and ends with my ability to correctly pronounce Oktoberfest. if any of this is wrong and God knows it probably is, blame google translation. I would however be happy to edit it correctly if any of you want to help.**_

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Personal Correspondance From Dr. Rory Williams to ****Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams and The Doctor**  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams

23 of June 1944

Dear Amy,

YES! Yes to adoption! Yes to getting started the moment I get back! Yes to one child or twenty! Ok, maybe not twenty, but I'd be willing to go to a soft twelve leaving room for negotiation for the remaining eight. I don't think I could have read better news. Thank you, love. You're right it does help to have something life affirming to look forward to. Not that you're not more than enough. I'm excited, grinning from ear to ear even. This will be our contribution to the baby boom!

We are finally in Cherbourg. It's been storming non-stop for the past four days and there doesn't appear to be an end in sight. From where I stand the whole world looks gray, the contrast from whence we came, the lovely pastoral danger of the outskirts of the Coetentin Peninsula, is stark.

Aerial bombardment began yesterday as Hitler has recalled his troops from fields, cliffs and bunkers to the core of the city. It's having little effect. They're well dug in and it concerns me. We're advancing moving in and out of houses and flats. Bursting in on terrified families to shoot through the glass from their broken windows. I barely have time to think of how we must look to them, another invasion, another violation, another horde, not even bothering to promise freedom or help. Too exhausted, too tired, too redlined to answer their frightened stares with comfort.

A German soldier appeared a few hours ago waving a white flag and calling out, Waffenrhue! Waffenrhue! I ordered my men to stand down and cautiously approached him.

His request was simple enough.

Ersparen Sie dem Krankenhaus, bitte.

Wir brauchen blut.

Spare the hospital, please.

We need blood.

I told him I was a doctor and would radio in to stop the shelling of the hospital. We gave him plasma and sent him back with a letter requiring complete and unconditional surrender. He couldn't have been more than 17.

There isn't much more to tell. We eat when we can. We rest rarely. Getting to write to you is the highlight in an otherwise unrelentingly grim day.

The sounds of the bombing are relentless, day and night. We had taken over a small part of the town, driving the Germans further inward. Shells are keeping them at bay as my men and I take a well deserved rest in several burnt out flats. I settled into one with Jack and we fell back into conversation.

What's your wife's name again?

Amy.

How did she adjust to 1939.

Well. She's amazing. A lot stronger than I am.

Any kids?

A daughter. Melody.

You didn't mention her being zapped back with you. She must be pretty young. Four? Five? Six?

I didn't say anything to that.

Must be hard to leave her.

It's always hard to leave them. What about you?

I had a girl, Estelle. We recently split up, it's for the best. You can't expect someone to wait for you forever.

No...no I suppose not. So where is Boeshane?

A planet called Parivia. Sandy, grassy not much to look at but it was home for awhile at least. Were you guys in Manhattan on holiday?

No...we were there on assignment from UNIT. Something completely unrelated to the Weeping Angels, but isn't that always the way.

I've never really known UNIT to employ husband and wife teams.

Times change.

That they do.

So if you were born in 1989 you were too young to fight in Panama, the Gulf War or Sierra Leone which only leaves Somalia or Iraq, maybe the Syrian war of 2014. But I think UNIT would have snapped you up by then. So that's too easy. A few days ago I saw you use a formation attack pattern almost identical to Hannibal at the Battle of Trebia. They don't teach that in medical school or UNIT of the British Army. Hell, they don't teach that anywhere.

I admit, I laughed. I was becoming a little more at ease with him.

You're never going to figure it out, Jack.

That's the first time you've called me Jack. Are we becoming friends, Rory?

Best not to ask. It spoils the moment. So, Torchwood. What is it?

UNIT should have been well aware.

Sorry mate, didn't have that kind of clearance. Above my pay grade.

OK, Torchwood. Established in the 19th century at the behest of Queen Victoria. Now, you see old Vicki got spooked by an alien encounter she had and it opened her eyes to the big bad universe that was out there. So in an effort to protect the Commonwealth she setup Torchwood to keep watch over the skies and Englands interests.

So you're the good guys, then?

I think you know by now there are no real good guys. Oh there are bad guys, easy to identify, clear-cut bad guys. But the supposed good ones like to exist in that grey area. There are no White Hats. Not really.

So, you're not a good guy then. Why should I trust you?

Maybe you shouldn't.

He paused before continuing.

Are you a good guy, Rory? What I kill stays dead. Isn't that what you said the other day?

When I didn't answer he went on.

No, I'm not a good guy. I've done awful things. Terrible things. I'm a con man and thief, I've killed people, on purpose and by accident, some deserved it and some didn't.

So what exactly do you do for Torchwood?

Like I said, I'm freelance. I just sort of travel around, looking for things to investigate. Helping out if and when I can and essentially biding my time.

Were you sent to investigate me?

He laughed.

No, actually. I walked into my current, favorite pub and saw a good looking G.I. and I thought, Hey, I'm single and he's alone why not try and have a little Pre-D-Day fun.

Didn't notice the ring?

Didn't care. It's never really mattered much before. But then I saw the paper and I had to put my libido on hold. Got in touch with the base to have them do a little investigating.

What did they find?

I already told you what they found. A very well organized, padded history. Except I didn't tell you everything. Some of the changes had been recent. I thought you said you were stuck here.

So...immortal are we? I said attempting to change the subject.

I like you Rory, I like the way you put things. Yeah, it seems like it. The not aging thing was the first clue, but believe me I wasn't complaining. The next thing that really helped cement it was when I got shot, point blank, in the chest on Ellis Island.

Did it hurt?

Uh, yeah I got _shot_. In the _chest_. Anyways, I figured that was the end and what a lackluster way to go out. But, the next morning, I woke up. I started clawing at my gown to see my chest, looking for a bruise, a scar, a bloody, gaping hole but there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. I didn't know what to make of it. Neither did the hospital staff. I've made some ladies scream in my time, Rory, but none quite as loud or long as the nurse when she caught me walking out of the morgue. I hightailed it out of there and just looked for a place to gather my thoughts.

And you don't know what caused it?

No idea. Last thing I recall is standing face to eyestalk with three Daleks and they're not big on mercy. Ever met a Dalek?

I've met my fair share, yeah. I think I met all of them...once.

He looked at me, studying me again.

I assumed I was going to die. I was ready to die, at least as much as anyone can be. But I didn't. I just woke up.

Then what happened. After Ellis Island, I mean.

Well, I wanted to test it. I threw myself into as many sure-death situations as I could but eventually it became undeniable. I'm never going to die. So what better place to be than in the middle of one of the bloodiest wars in history. I mean, if you're in the past you might as well live through it, right? Is that why you're here?

Me? No, hell I got drafted.

No kidding.

I was living a quiet life with my wife, working at hospital, biding my time until I could open a private practice. But they called my number and I couldn't get out of it. Though sometimes...I think maybe I wasn't supposed to get out of it.

Fate?

Hardly. I don't believe in fate.

I watched as Jack settled down onto an old mattess that if it were possible, looked even more uncomfortable than mine.

Then we're on the same page. There's no one out there looking out for us.

Now, I didn't say _that_.

Come on, Rory. You have me at a disadvantage. I've been much more forthcoming with you than I usually am but I don't know a thing about your life. UNIT won't exist for another twenty plus years so you can't break any directives that haven't been written yet. Tell me one thing, in the spirit of friendship.

I regarded him in the darkness. I could only make out his features because of the moon and he looked sincere enough.

I sighed and layed down upon my mattress.

You asked me how old I am. In a manner of speaking...in a _way_...I am 1,947 years old. But I usually just round up to 2,000. It's easier for people to grasp. Goodnight, Jack.

He tried to get me to say more but I was done for the night.

Don't worry about him, Amy and don't worry about me. I'm ok. It does make my heart happy that you still think of me as nice. Sometimes it's hard for me to think of myself that way.

As for our anniversary, of course I didn't forget! I'm sorry we have to spend it apart but I will do my absolute best to be available so we can chat. Next year we're going to have a big to do. Dinner, Dancing, Wining and Dining and some of the best shagging you've ever had. I see no reason to be proper when we're on the most secure channel there is. I miss you, I love you and all the wonderful, amazing, whimsical, weird, pouty, funny, Scottish things about you, but blimey, I miss your body too. It hasn't even been three months and I'm already going a little mad. Ok, since a fire fight in the midst of German occupied France is not conducive to wanking I'm going to cut this short and think about cold showers.

I love you, Mrs. Pond-Williams and lest you forget, you're sexy as hell.

I'm safe. I'm sound. Don't worry and I'll talk to you soon.

See you on Tuesday,

Rory


	83. June 24, 1944

_**I know it's been awhile, relatively speaking, since I updated. I got you guys so use to multiple chapters you were probably a little weirded out. Sorry bout that. I took some time off because 1) I needed to wrap up "Come And Knock On Our Door" 2) Friday was my birthday and I wanted a mini-break and 3) I was just a bit stuck and really didn't know how I wanted to proceed with Rory and Jack. I'm unstuck now, hopefully permanently. **_

_**I'm just a regular old heathen, kind of like Rory, so it took a lot of searching and deciphering of the Sancta Missa and a complete Latin to English translation on fisheaters dot com to get the Last Rites correct. Or as close to correct as I could manage.**_

_**FAIR WARNING: My classes start next week and I don't know how heavy my course load is going to be so I'm not sure how often I'll be able to update. But I promise I haven't forgotten about you guys or this story. I have no intention of abandoning it. I'll try and do what I always do, which is write as the professors drone on... Ok, Allons-y.**_

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Arthur Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

24th of June 1944

Dear Doctor,

Quite in spite of myself, I like Jack. He's smart, he's fast, he's a good fighter, quick with a gun, all in all he seems like he'd be excellent to have around. But I can also imagine why you might not like him. There's also a callousness, a streak of it that I both fear and understand. In the beginning, I tried to hide that part of myself from you. Somehow I imagined you might find it disappointing. He's also reckless. But it's the kind of reckless that comes from realizing the years are stretching out in front of you, bleeding into the horizon. It's natural, I think.

He's also angry. That's one of the reasons I think you may know him. Forgive me, Doctor, but theres a very specific sort of anger that you engender. Not from me, love. Not anymore. Not for a very, very long time. But he's seen a lot of death and as I believe his story to be true, he's in for a lot more. Death makes you angry, Doctor as I know you know.

This morning our chaplain was struck and mortally wounded by a German shell. His name was Father Jerry May. I liked Jerry. he was a good man, kind, funny and brave as hell for someone doing all the same things we were doing minus a gun and with the morale of the men on his shoulders. We carried his body to a burned out, shell of a building and I knelt near him and held his hand.

That's a good lad, Jerry." I said smiling down at him, trying to offer some comfort in these last moments.

He grinned back up at me through blood stained teeth.

I'm older than you, Doc. Haven't been a "lad" in some time. I always wanted to ask, why you never called me Father?

I don't know. Maybe because I'm an arse. I should have respected your title. I always respected you. You don't have to talk anymore. I won't leave you.

He coughed thickly but shook his head, no.

I like talking. Kind of afraid to stop, if you don't mind.

The other men were gathered around in muted respect and I leaned close to him. There was nothing medically I do for him. His injuries were too severe.

Do you want me to hear your confession? I asked him quietly.

It doesn't work that way, Doc.

I beg to differ, James 5:16. Confess your sins to one another and pray for one another so that you may be healed.

A biblical scholar? He asked and I could hear the sick burbling as blood filled his chest.

Something like that.

I didn't want to do this in front of everyone and Jack but I felt like I had little choice.

Come on, Jerry. I'm afraid we don't have much time, mate.

I appreciate the effort, Doc... he started coughing again and I squeezed his hand tighter before starting to rifle through the small pack he carried around his waist. I removed a canister, and popped it open to reveal the fifty or so eucharists kept inside.

And yes, Doctor, before you ask, I felt like a hypocrite. A terrible one. But this wasn't about me or what I believe, this was about Jerry.

Bit rusty but I think you'll both forgive me. Are you sorry for having offended God, with all the sins of your past life?

Jerry looked at me wide eyed, almost disbelieving but there must have been something in my gaze, something confident and very, very old that made him trust me, vestments or not.

Deus meus, ex toto corde paenitet me omnium meorum peccatorum, eaque detestor, quia peccando, non solum poenas a te iuste statutas promeritus sum..." He continued on in a rush, using some of his last precious breaths to finish the prayer.

Ego to abslovo in nomine patris, et filli, et spiritus sancti." I responded from memory. Fishing out one of the wafers I placed it on his tongue saying "Corpus Christi." before using an oil soaked cotton ball I found among his things to hastily anoint his forehead.

Per istam sanctan unctionem et suam piissimam misericordiam, indulgeat tibi Dominus quid per visum, audtiotum, odorátum, gustum et locutiónem, tactum, gressum deliquisti. Kyrie, eleison. Christe, eleison. Kyrie, Eleison. By the Faculty which the Apostolic See has given me, I grant you a plenary indulgence for the remission of all your sins, and I bless you. In the Name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Sprit. Amen.

Thank you...Father. he said weakly. By his face he looked at peace.

Take your burden heavenwards to the sight of the Most High. Godspeed, Father.

I always knew you had a lot of secrets, Doc. I wish... I'd gotten to... know you-

And then he was gone.

I sighed deeply and closed his vacant eyes. Several of my men were staring at me but I avoided their questions and their eyes. Standing, I ordered three of them to take the body back towards the makeshift infirmary that was being set up near the outskirts of town.

The sun was setting, the shelling and bombardments were growing fewer and farther between. It was actually just an ugly fluke that Jerry had been so struck. The city would be ours within days and Jack and I resumed our nightly ritual of discussion.

So you're a priest too? he asked.

I was a monk, an Abbot, actually. Abbe Wilhelm. But that was a long time ago. However as I did take the Orders I was...am...I'm not sure honestly, able to administer the Sacraments. Ex opere operato. If the form is properly executed it retains its validity. If not, the sin, were there such a thing, is on my head not Jerry's.

Wilhelm? I thought you were Williams

Old German of Williams. It means protection. I've gone through quite a few names in my day.

I know what you mean. I didn't peg you as the type. I certainly didn't think you were religious much less a true believer who wore the collar.

I was never a true believer, Jack. I'm still not. I was simply in a situation where I did what I had to do. That goes for joining the order and helping Jerry along today. I do what is required of me.

Well, now I feel weird for having hit on a priest.

No you don't. I chuckled.

No, you're right, I don't. I only felt like I should say it.

There was a sudden explosion off to our right and the sound of raised German voices.

Jack and I stopped our minimal preparations for bed and took our places in the window, rifles in hand. Tonight, it seemed, wouldn't be so quiet after all.

So what happened? I showed you mine, you show me yours, why were you immortal?

Shenanigans. I said. Pay attention, keep your eyes east.

Do you get off on being cryptic?

It's a long story, Jack. It's a never-was story. The past isn't nearly as important as the future.

I don't know much about the Weeping Angels but can't UNIT bring you back?

Nope, this is home. Until the end of our days.

Combatants at 9 and 12 o'clock.

I seem them.

I don't expect they'd care much anyways. UNIT, I mean. Torchwood wouldn't care.

If you don't like them why do you work for them?

They tortured me into it.

He seemed to be expecting something but I just waited for him to continue.

Most people would chuckle at that.

I didn't think it was funny. Were you making a joke?

No. No, I wasn't. They discovered I was...I'm still uncomfortable with the word immortal. They discovered I was what I am and they tortured me, trying to get information. I told them I wanted nothing to do with their organization. I left but after some soul searching and an answer that my ride wasn't going to be here for a hundred years or so I eventually agreed to join up with them. Torchwood was ruthless, Rory. Cruel, shortsighted, xenophobic, ignorant. But I'm doing my best to change things, from the inside out. We need good people, strong people, smart people who actually have an undamaged moral compass. People like you.

Look alive, men. This doesn't appear to be stopping anytime soon. Dig in and keep your eyes moving. I ordered them before returning to addressing Jack. You think I have an undamaged moral compass?

Yeah, I do. I'm not just a mercenary I'm also a recruiter. What do you think, Rory? I'm rebuilding Torchwood from the bottom up, have been for years. I think you and your wife might prove to be a strong allies. I know you've got a small child but we can work around that.

Amy and I were strong allies for years. I think we just want to live quietly now.

You think but you don't know.

The report of the rifles and shells and miscellaneous gunfire was making it nearly impossible to be heard and we found ourselves shouting at one another.

Jack continued.

Come VE day I think you'll realize how much you're gonna miss this. The fighting, the running.

Maybe. Doubtfully. Reforming an institution from the bottom up can't be easy.

It isn't, but I've been working on it for the better part of a century. I owe it to someone to see it through.

The same someone who abandoned you?

Yeah, as a matter of fact.

The Germans seemed intent on making a final push forward, In the darkness I saw them swarm out from a building like roaches.

My men, Jack and I fired round after round but they were desperate and reckless and willing to take chances they wouldn't normally.

Just before I gave orders for us to move out and fall back. Just before the flash genade blinded us. Just before Jack was shot by a sniper between then eyes, I heard him ask one final question.

Rory, have you ever heard of someone called The Doctor?


	84. June 26th, 1944

_**Ok, just off the top of my head I'm recalling at least three Who episodes where Jack came back to life. The third time in, I believe, Journeys End was pretty fast. The second time, in Utopia was about medium and the first time after Rose brought him back seemed to take a while. Essentially, I'm going with the idea that different trauma causes different recovery times SO for my purposes a bullet to the brain may take a little longer. I need Jack dead long enough for he and Rory to separated. Yes, I'm afraid we're bidding goodbye to the Captain for the time being. But you can bet he'll be back. I promise.**_

**Supplemental: Archival Records**  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Arthur Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

26th of June 1944

Dear Doctor,

I just wanted to write a brief journal entry tonight. I'm waiting to chat with Amy, it's our 15 year wedding anniversary and I'm glad that I'll have the chance to be with her in the only way we can at the moment.

Cherbourg is now a definite victory for the Allies, the Germans, now prisoners marched in orderly, defeated rows past soldiers and citizens alike today. The streets were crowded, with everyone in their own way calling for blood. I took no joy in it. Days like this I feel far removed, alien and more observer than participant. I'm weary and exhausted and glad that this at least is over.

Jack is dead. For now at least. We met up with a British regiment and gave possession of his body to them. I'm not sure how long the resurrection process takes. How long before he wakes up but because I believe him, I believe it will happen. At this moment he's more than likely on a ship, leaving the newly acquired Cherbourg harbor bound for England.

I slipped a brief note in his jacket. It had my name, our Manhattan address and phone number on the front and on the back I wrote just two words,

Doctor who?

He'll understand. And then, when this is all over, he'll come looking for us. A discussion about you, a full out, no holds barred talk is best done in the comfort of our home with a great deal of alcohol. Not to mention I want Amy's input.

And one more admission, I want to change his mind about you. You know that feeling you get when someone badmouths your friend? No matter how well they know them all you can think is, Well you don't know him as well as I do. There are only a few beings that I'm fine with having a negative view of you but humans are not one of them. That's right, Doctor, I've become both apologist and apostle for you. Rory Williams: reasoned defender of the faith.

I think I'm looking forward to it, not just because it means being home, but because it's always nice to talk about you again.

But for now, life moves onward. I'm staying in a room in the hospital. Not as a patient. I did get a bit singed by the grenade but nothing to worry about. It wasn't actually a flash grenade. I thought that would have been a few years out. It was actually a thermite that misfired, thank goodness, because otherwise we would have all be dead. There's a bit of information I think I'll keep under my hat and away from Amy.

Something silly has been on my mind recently. You know, Doctor, you never finished your sentence.

_So for God sakes, however bored you get stay out of-_

What? Stay out of what? After all this time I'm still so curious. I can't believe I never asked you.

I used to make a game out of it.

So for God sakes, however bored you get stay out of Air Supply concerts.  
So for God sakes, however bored you get stay out of puppet shows.  
So for God sakes, however bored you get stay out of Hitler's cupboard. He's still rather cross with you.

I don't know. I had to do something to pass the time.

Guess now I'll never know.

I'm sure you send your best on our anniversary. In a way, in a strange way that I guess only the three of us could understand, it's sort of our anniversary with you, too. The night you left me with the Pandorica is when I think I finally started to trust you, really trust you and how much you loved Amy and cared for me. Then about 2000 years later, after our wedding, when we both ran away with you, well that was the first time I think we were all together, minus the animosity. It was the first time we'd all three decided we wanted..._needed _to travel with one another. That was when we started a new adventure in a brand new world that you and Amy helped rebuild. When you've lived so long, markers, dates start to become frighteningly important, they're the watermarks, the tree rings by which you judge the passage of time. Sometimes they're all you have to look forward to. I have a lot of those, as you may imagine, I'm sure you do too. But this is one of the most important.

Well, I've got to go, Amy's waiting, but before I do, I guess, I just wanted to say, Happy Anniversary, Doctor.

You know, you missed a few of our celebrations. If you're up to it. If it wouldn't hurt too much, maybe you could pop in, on say our third anniversary? Our fourth? Our ninth? So many open spaces in our past you could fill, Doctor. It's not crossing your own timeline if you weren't ever there, right? I don't think Amy or I would mind having a flood of new/old warm memories of you. Only if you can manage it, mate. I suppose, I'm not certain that emotionally I could.

No matter where you are or what you decide, have a glass of champagne and toast to us, your glorious Ponds.

We miss you. We love you.

Love,

Rory


	85. June 26, 1944 (15th Wedding Anniversary)

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Personal Correspondance From Dr. Rory Williams to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**Sent via Temporal Paper Cherbourg-Octeville France - Manhattan U.S.**

26th of June 1944

Hello, love!

Hi, Rory! Happy anniversary, baby!

Happy anniversary, my love. Typing tonight I see.

Yeah, I dragged this behemoth out of the closet. I wanted to be able to keep pace with you without cramping up. Where are you?

My own little room in the Red Cross hospital. It's cozy and private and-

Are you hurt?

Just a little burn from a flash grenade. Really I'm fine. Jack got the worst of it. Killed him, but he'll be alright. I don't know when or if I'll see him again. They're sending him back to England to search for next of kin. I imagine he'll turn up eventually. Last thing he said to me was to ask if I knew the Doctor.

What did you say?

Nothing. Didn't have a chance to respond. But I left our name, address and phone number on a scrap of paper in his jacket.

Are you sure that was a good idea?

Yeah...yeah I am. Don't worry.

Alright, or at the very least I'll save my worrying for another night. I did something for you.

Did you, now?

Oh, God, I'm a bit embarrassed.

I'm intrigued, especially if something embarrassed you.

Ok, I used the webcam and I took two pictures of myself.

Fantastic, I love new pictures of you.

One is like a pin-up picture, cheeky but still covered up. The other is a *special* picture, Rory.

Oh! Why, Mrs. Pond! You naughty minx. Are you completely-

As the day I was born. Ok, I'm putting the paper in the tray and I'm pressing print. I hope this works. Give it a minute or so. In the meantime, tell me how on earth you planned all this, Mister?

All what? *shrugs shoulders innocently*

Well, I got a delivery of flowers at 10, another at 12 and then another at 2. Then there was the candy, then my favorite meal delivered to the door from our favorite restaurant complete with sticky toffee pudding for desert. Don't play coy with me, sir, you are a master planner. ...Rory?

Yes...sorry, the pin up picture just came through. Good heavens, Amy, you're gorgeous. And I had no idea you could get your legs up that high.

Yes, you did. And if you're forgetting I'll have to remind you come Tuesday. But you're sure I look ok? Everything still as pert and shapely as the day you married me?

Amy, you are gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. God, I wish I was with you right now.

Me too. You really like it?

Of course I do.

Just feeling a little self conscious lately. Noticed a few gray hairs. Having to put on a little bit more makeup in the morning.

All I see if perfection. That's all I've ever, ever seen. You look just as lovely as you did when we danced our first dance.

The Macarena.

No...well yes, but I meant our wedding dance. Speaking of which grab your iPod and look for the playlist labeled Happy Anniversary Mrs. Pond

You didn't?

I did. I made it before I left. The same time I placed the orders for the flowers and candy and dinner. You can't imagine the strange looks you get planning something months in advance. Now, put it in the dock, press play.

It's our whole wedding playlist!

Yeah, from Into The Mystic to You Give Me Something to The Macarena. It's all there, even all the terrible songs you like that I can't convince you otherwise. It's all there, even if I can't be. I still want to rock your gypsy soul, Mrs. Pond.

You still do, Mr. Pond. You got me crying now, stupid face.

Yeah, me too. So, lets see if I can make you smile. Get up, go to our cupboard and look up at the top shelf. In the back behind my hats you'll see a large red box. Get it down and bring it back. Type me when you've gotten it.

Ok. ...Ok, got it.

Great, now open it, but only open things in the order that I say. There's a method to this. Don't just charge ahead like a bull at the gate like you always do. I swear you're a Tasmanian devil on your birthday or Christmas.

Oi! I will not be scolded on my anniversary! Now which one first?

Ok you see the white box? Go for that one first. Now the traditional gift for 15 years is crystal which I kind of found to be a bit boring. But in keeping with tradition-

Crystal wine glasses. These are lovely, Rory. Don't I feel posh all of a sudden? I love them, thank you.

I thought you might. We'll have to use them on a special occasion won't we?

Absolutely.

Ok, now open the little green boxes. First the rectangular one, then the square.

Oh my God. A necklace and matching earrings, these are crystal too.

They are. You can't wear the wine glasses out so I needed to get you jewelry.

This must have cost a small fortune.

What else do we spend our money on? We have so much more than we could ever use or need.

I'm not going to wear them until you're back with me. I'm going to save them. Ok, I may put them on and look at myself in the mirror everyday but they're not leaving the flat!

Now there should be a little white business card at the bottom.

Ok, this is an appointment card from Saks for...well it just says Summer/Fall of 1945.

Yeah, again I booked ahead. It's a standing, open appointment.

For what?

I'm going to ignore that question for now, Mrs. pond. Ok, last one. Little blue box in the corner. Open that one. I wasn't ever able to get you the quality that I wanted, until now.

Rory, it's a ring!

I would love to be there to do this in person and I will. Make sure you bring this along when you come to greet me on Tuesday. But, I just couldn't wait. Amy, will you marry me, again? I think your exclamation points may hint at a favorable answer but I'd like a hard yes, if possible, love.

YES! Yes! Yes! Yes!

I always imagined us waiting until we had 50 years under our belts to renew our vows but, I don't want to wait. Plus I think we've been through at least 50 years of married madness and bliss.

Can I wear it this time or do I have to keep this one in the box too?

Well, I'd rather you kept it in the box, but for a different reason this time. I just want to get down on one knee and put it on you.

Ok, in the box it stays. So, it's a bridal appointment, isn't it?

Well done.

Dress appointment, champagne glasses to toast with, new jewelry and a new ring. You genius, boy. Crying now, again.

Happy tears? Happy Mrs. Rory?

Very happy. But I-

Nope. I know what you're going to say. _You're _ my gift. This year and every year.

When you get back, I'll have something special for you.

Amy, do you remember our fifth anniversary. The year you got me the Laurel and Hardy box set?

Yeah. It's also the year I got you that really expensive bottle of wine but _you _ remember a DVD box set.

I loved them both equally! But do you remember us getting flowers? The doorbell rang in the middle of the night, we went to answer it and there was no one there but there was this giant arrangement.

No, I don't know what you're-

Think for second...let it come to you. It only just came to me.

Wait a minute. Yeah. You stubbed your toe on the side of the bed as you were getting up. We went downstairs, opened the front door, picked up the flowers and brought them to the lounge and set them down to search for a card.

But we knew. They were so odd looking and they smelled like... pancakes.

They had to be from the Doctor.

And we couldn't figure out why he didn't come in. He'd never hesitated about barging in before at all hours of the night.

Then when he showed up a week later and we tried to thank him, he looked confused and said he didn't know what we were going on about.

When we showed him the card he just looked uneasy. Do you remember what it said?

He popped back to see us, didn't he? He went back in our time line just to say hello.

I asked him to. I wasn't sure if he would or not.

We thought it was a bit sentimental and...mushy for him. The card said "With all my love. All of it. I miss you." Oh, Rory. he came back for us. It's wonderful having new memories just pop up like that.

Yeah, yeah it is. It's wonderful to know he's reading, too. Thanks, Doctor.

Thank you, Doctor.

I'm sorry I'm a world away from you, Amy.

It's ok. You're also right here. You always knew we were going to make it. You planned this months ahead even though you knew what might happen. And not just now, but always. You've always known we would make it.

Of course. we're Amy and Rory.

I love you, Rory.

And I love you, Amy. Now...no more tears. I believe I was promised another picture. A scandalous shot of you in the all-together.

Right. Coming up. I believe I was promised some of the best shagging I've ever had upon your return. I'm holding you to that.

You'd better.

Picture come through yet?

Ummm...wow...yeah, yeah it came through alright.

Does that hospital room of yours have some sort of lock?

It's little more than a glorified custodians closet, so yes. Getting up to lock it now.

Fancy an incredibly awkward, nearly impossible to maneuver, typo filled-wank-chat via typewriter and temporal paper?

I thought you'd never ask. I'm pretty sure we're about to invent sexting.

**Curators Note: It is the general policy of the museum to preserve items in their original state. However, we do have an overarching policy against making public that which might be considered too mature for our younger visitors. The conversation between Doctor Williams and Mrs. Pond-Williams continues in a rather adult nature from this point onwards. Though these letters are kept under secure Nova Glass and are to be viewed and retrieved only by the Doctor, museum policy must be strictly and universally applied. The text will be available for viewing only to the Doctor via the Underlay method. We apologize for any inconvenience.**

* * *

**Longwinded Author's Note:**

**_So, I kind of battled writers block, (which I'm still currently fighting) as I struggled through this chapter. That and school are part of why I haven't updated in awhile. But, that wasn't the only reason. I recently received a, shall we say, pointed review of Epistolary and I admit it initially shook my confidence. I started second guessing things, a lot of things. After a DM or two with my buddy Orchidellia I decided to try and push through it. However, I do want to say two things because this is still stuck in my craw._**

**_1) Had these points been brought up privately, in a DM I would have left them that way, private. But as the review is public and FF dot Net doesn't let your reply like AO3, I feel I should have the opportunity to respond publicly. So, I'm going to do something odd, I'm gonna post a "review" for my own story, which is really just a response I'd like on record. I'm also DM'ing the reviewer my post since, as their assessment of the story was so negative, I doubt they'd see it if I just tack it on as a review._**

**_2) I want to do a good job. I want this story to be entertaining and compelling and funny and sad and moving and as factual as it can be. Most of all, I want it to be true to the characters we all love. If I'm not doing that, I do welcome people letting me know. I've gotten great Brit-Picking notes (essentially when I write something anachronistic and way too American) and historical notes when I make glaring mistake regarding Roosevelt or Eisenhower and many, many other helpful suggestions. So if any of you have any proposals or concerns I want to know. I want constructive criticism, that's the only thing that keeps a writer in line sometimes._**

**_So that's all. I just needed to get that off my chest so, Sensitive-Sally that I am, I can move on. Ok, I'm gonna close with this, if you have any interest in what I'm referring to, you can obviously take a gander at the reviews page, it's a fairly recent entry,(1/29/13) you'll see it. If you think I should save the drama for my mama, that's cool too. Either way, my sincerest thanks for your kind words, your assistance, your criticisms and your encouragement. I'll do my best to make each chapter better than the one that preceded it._**

**_Here endeth my self serving blather._**

**_-Maribor_**


	86. October 22, 1944

22nd of October 1944

Dear Bracey,

I'm sorry I've been so long away. I can't recall the last time I just sat down and and took the time to write a nice letter to you. I've been so stressed and busy but I would guess you know all about that as I haven't gotten a letter from you either. I hope all is well.

The business with Torchwood and Harkness has been resolved, at least for the moment. If it wasn't for your help...well I don't like to think about what might have happened to Rory. Both you and Winston have been so amazing through all this madness I guess I just don't know how to thank you. Perhaps I never can.

Rory and I speak regularly. He's fine and currently making his way across France. My amazing Rory helped to liberate Paris. He sent back amazing pictures of the Victory Day parade and he even got to shake Charles de Gaulle's hand. He's healthy and in good spirits. I send out care packages to him as often as possible so that's he's always stocked up on dry socks, sweets and plenty of pens and paper. He sends his love to you and Dorabella.

I don't have much personal news to report. I'm still writing my column, though my editor has asked for more personal input. He enjoys the stories from women awaiting their husbands return but he told me I was ignoring my most accessible subject; Me. I put him off for awhile, I didn't really want to write about Rory and I, but eventually he convinced me. So once a month the woman on the homefront is me.

I've started to get fan mail, if you can believe that. Women and even a few men writing in to tell me how much they enjoy the column from all over the country (did I mention I got syndicated?). It means a lot and keeps me motivated to keep it up. Knowing people out there are reading it and maybe even looking forward to it keeps me writing even when I'm feeling pretty depressed.

Rory has been gone for over six months. Six months, nearly seven. It's hard. Harder than I even imagined it would be.

It's late October now, of course, and Spartacus and I lined the streets with hundreds of other people to watch President Roosevelt's motorcade go by. I waved my hand and my little American flag and felt like a proper Yank. Everything turned into a bit of a block party after that. Music, dancing, children playing, it was something I think we all needed. For one moment everyone collectively exhaled.

Sunny and I take the kids to the cinema a lot and while they enjoy The Three Caballeros with Donald Duck for the hundredth time we gush over Cary Grant in Suspicion. You should take Dorabella to see it. ;)

Sunny is teaching me how to sew. There's a city wide shortage in childrens clothes and nappies and everyday we churn out little onesies and such just to help and do our part. Sunny is having a hard time dealing with being a widow and she's having even more problems with Michael. The doctors are calling it battle fatigue or just plain old exhaustion, but of course it's PTSD. He's angry, he's depressed, he drinks. She's had to phone the police on him at least once. I'm worried about her and the children and I have them stay over with me as often as possible.

That's about it. Life does go on, doesn't it?

Please write back soon, tell me how you're doing. I have a strange feeling a lot has gone on since we last spoke and not all of it good.

I miss you my friend,

Always,

Amy

**A/N I just wanted to thank you guys so very much for all the kind words after my last submission. Your positive reenforcement was exactly what the Doctor ordered. ;) Thank you so much.**


	87. October 30, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Personal Correspondence From Mrs. Dorabella Bracewell to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

30th of October, 1944

Dear Amy,

Edwin asked that that I contact you as soon as I received your latest letter. While I remain in Chalk River, he was transferred rather abruptly to Los Alamos , New Mexico. He was specifically told to leave any family behind and come alone. So, I remain by myself in Ontario.

Even before he left I was growing increasingly concerned. The stresses of his position had begun to wear on him. He wasn't sleeping or eating and I can only assume things for him have now grown worse. His letters now are fairly scarce and I worry for his wellbeing.

Edwin often plays things close to the vest with me. I don't mean to say he's needlessly secretive but I do believe he feels the desire to protect me from things sometimes. Often, I feel he is more open with you. But please, don't mistake gratitude for jealousy. I'm happy he has such a close confidant in you. Because of that, I urge you to write to him at the address provided from now on. I have forwarded your most recent correspondence. He will be so overjoyed to speak with you and I fear he may desperately need a friend now.

Yours,

Dorabella Bracewell

**A/N: I wrote these chapters during lectures today. They're short, I know, but oy, I've got so much class work and reading! I'm kind of swamped. But no worries, I'm going to keep pushing us ahead...**


	88. November 10, 1944

******Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

10th of November 1944

Dear Doctor,

I have the Wikipedia page for 1944 permanently open. It's kinda of hard to keep up on things, because it's not always easy to know what to look for, but I do refer to it religiously. With everything going on lately I forgot to mention I had a very nice visit with your wife just last month. I'd scanned the web page like normal and around September 4th saw that we were due for a hurricane and a big one at that. It wouldn't make landfall for around 10 or so days but I started preparing immediately. First I dashed off a letter to Melody. She had included a bundle of those homing beacon stamps so we could get in touch with her not just through you.

It was simple enough,

_Hello Melody,_

_We're due for the Great Atlantic Hurricane in around 10 days or less. I was wondering if you had the time if maybe you'd like to spend the storm with your old Mum. When the power ultimately goes out we can sit in the dark, drink wine and tell each other stories._

By the time Spartacus and I had walked to the post and back there was a letter waiting in the mail slot for us.

_Dear Mum,_

_Hurricane party? Count me in. I'll bring the wine and the gossip. See you in a few days._

_P.S. You bring some gossip too!_

The next order of business was to convince Sunny when the time came to leave town. I went to the market and did shopping for she and the kids and Michael as well as Melody and I. But plans got a bit derailed. On the fifth the Cornwall-Massena earthquake struck. It registered about a 5.8 on the Richter scale and served to rattle my teeth, my nerves and my china. But I cleaned up the damage and then returned to the plan at hand. I gathered together a lot of non perishables, blankets and some cash. Convincing her wasn't easy. I had to spin some yarn about how I predicted the 1938 hurricane, how I have a special relationship with weather, how every fiber of my being was telling me they needed to get out of town. I helped her cover all her windows in her flat and even got a few sandbags to hopefully keep the water out. The water was definitely coming, the flooding from this storm was apparently going to be pretty bad. As the day approached she really did seem to believe me and right up until I handed her the food, the cash and the keys to our car she thought I was coming with them. How could I explain to her I couldn't leave?

I don't understand, if it's as bad as you say it's going to be, why would you stay. Come with us, we'll all get a hotel room together further inland and hunker down.

No, this is my home, I'm going to stay here and weather it out. Plus I can't leave Spartacus.

Amy, I'm not comfortable with you here by yourself.

I've faced much worse than this. Not to mention, my family friend from Christmas, you remember Melody, she's coming into town.

She hesitated but I could tell I had her. As the clouds rolled in I kissed the kids goodbye and and saw her off.

I didn't tell Rory, hell I'm even telling you after the fact. My boys, you always worried too much about me. Amelia Pond is not, nor will she ever be a damsel in distress and she can deal with a another little storm.

Did I ever tell you that Rory and I arrived here in the middle of a hurricane? I asked Melody some time later. She's arrived in a flash of light wearing skinny jeans, a t-shirt and her hair pulled back in a big curly pony tail. We'd hugged for about five minutes straight and even then I was unwilling to let her go.

Finally she, Spartacus and I had settled in the living room with pizza and wine and the radio playing softly in the background. We were camped out on the floor like little girls, the way we had done when we were young...the way I always imagined us doing had I gotten the chance to raise her.

Pond luck. She'd chuckled with a shake of her head. The middle of a hurricane, you say?

Mmmhmm, The Long Island Express they called it. I was so worried when I arrived. I didn't know where or how I'd find your Dad. I could tell by everyones clothes I was probably in the right time but what if he wasn't there? What if I never found him? The streets were flooded up to my calves, the rain was coming in sideways. I was calling his name but it kept being swallowed up by the wind. Finally a gentleman grabbed me by the arm and yanked me into a restaurant. I spent the night there, soaked through, looking for the slightest break in the clouds so that I could run out and look for him. I went through all these scenarios in my head. What if I'd waited too long? What if he'd given up on me? What if he'd been by himself for years for every second I dallied?

What happened?

I went out the next morning and started searching or him. It didn't take long before I heard someone call my name...and there he was. My Rory, just like when I'd last seen him. I ran up to him, we hugged and I told him I was never going to let him go. He seemed surprised I had come back for him. That hurt, not that I was angry with him, I was angry with myself for making him think that. I told him I would never leave, not ever again. And that was kind of that. We set off to find shelter and start our lives.

Hurricanes make you sentimental?

Yeah, I guess so. That's really weird isn't it? You know, I don't know if I could have done it without you.

Done what?

Been able to leave the Doctor so quickly. You gave me the strength.

You've always been stronger than you think, which is saying quite a bit, Mum because you think you're pretty strong.

Both of you let me go.

The Doctor made it harder for you. I understand his pain, I do, but he shouldn't have tried to saddle you with it.

His words came back to me, as clear as they were the moment he'd spoken them.

_I'll be with Rory. Like I should be._

_"__From your point of view. From mine, you'll just turn to dust. Please don't. Please don't do that to me…Amy. My Amelia. The first face this face saw_."

He was so hurt and so scared and the pull to comfort him was almost as strong as the need to join Rory.

I wiped away a few errant tears.

Oh it's aright. He's powerful and wonderful and brilliant but he's also a 10 year old boy who wants what he wants. He was my selfish boy. You were so calm and now I understand why. You'd already seen us here. You _did_ know it was our best shot.

Couldn't let you know I knew. I had to let you make your own decision.

What happened after we left?

She sighed. Her attention suddenly turning to the storm raging outside the window.

He went rather mad, not to put too fine a point on it. I told him you were ok, I told him the tombstone showed that you made it. I- mother?

I must have gone a little white. Every so often the thought of Rory's gravestone, my gravestone came back to me with a chilling clarity. Rory was going to die someday and I was going to die someday too. That was written, that was fact. Somewhere in the future our grave was standing mouldering, discolored, weathered and unempty.

Don't, Mum. We all have a tomb out there somewhere, every time traveler knows that. We've probably crossed over it a dozen times. Even in life we are in the midst of death, isn't that what the bible says?

I tried to shake it off, the willies, the cold feeling of doom.

Not getting religious are we? I asked her with forced good humor.

She chuckled.

No, heard it from Dad once, a long time ago. Did he ever tell you he spent the better part of two centuries as a monk?

I looked at her with surprise.

No, that's the first I've heard of it.

He moved the Pandorica to the catacombs of an abbey and took the vows all so he could watch over you. He even made the history books.

How could that be? That timeline was aborted.

History isn't as clear cut as all that. You can't ever truly clean up a timeline. The Time Lords could, when they were here but it's all up to us and the whims of the universe now. There's always a bit of clutter that remains, it hangs around as myth or ghost stories. May I see your laptop?

Of course.

I stood up to go to the bedroom to retrieve it.

Whatever you plan on doing, best do it fast before we lose the electric. I'm surprised we've kept it for this long. I said upon my return. I again sat down next to her and peered over her shoulder.

The Ageless Monk? I asked.

Mmmhmm, and then she began to read.

_The Ageless Monk is a figure from Christian mythology but his origins predate the tradition. The original legend may have melded over the years with the medieval legend of the Wandering Jew. Both were either doomed or charged with roaming the Earth for an indeterminate number of years, possibly until the Second Coming. Much of the original tales have been lost but what remains is an unverified account from Father Augusto Domenenci, a priest from the 16th century._

_A mysterious man in an unfamiliar habit approached and asked to help in the construction of the new papal residence on the condition that they would allow him to house a box within it. A box that contained a secret. The last secret. He called the box the "All-Giving."_

_He was granted permission to assist provided he worked on in the service of its raising for two hundred years. The mysterious man agreed. He worked day and night, month after month, year after year and for those two centuries he never appeared to age or tire. His final job was working on a small apartment that was originally to be called the Silentium. The Room of Silence. The Ageless Monk worked tirelessly in that small little room and on the few occasions when he would pause for the rest he never ceased to weep._

_When he was asked once why he wept, he refused to answer and instead said, _

_This room must be red, the reddest red, as red as her hair. _

_But no one knew whom he referred to and they did not question him further. When he completed the room and the priests entered they were struck by it's simplicity, its craftsmanship and its aching beauty._

_But it is said that during his time in the Palace the Ageless Monk became disenchanted with the hierarchy, the priests and the papacy. When it came time to deliver the box he hesitated and then outright refused. Some say he left with the box because he felt his holy secret was too precious to bestow on the unworthy. No one was ever sent after him to reclaim it for fear of second guessing his judgement. When the new Pope is elected he enters that room and he sits in contemplation over what great and terrible honor has been placed upon his shoulders. And in that silence, in that small redder than red room it is said you can still hear the weeping of the Ageless Monk. And so it was named The Room of Tears. There is a box there, called The Popes Box and it sits empty, in holy deference to to the secret box the mysterious man carried. It is believed he still carries the secret with him, held within that box. On the day he opens it the stars will go black, the world will unwrite itself and everything will end. Or so the story goes._

We both sniffled as she finished reading.

I think they were talking about a much smaller box, as this implies he carried it on his person but you see my point. Nothing is ever really forgotten.

The Doctor said something similar to me after the first time I lost Rory. I doubt I'll ever know all his stories, will I? And he's the only one who really knows them now. When he's gone, all his adventures will go with him. He's amazing, your Dad.

I know, who else but the Doctor could I fall in love with? Had to find someone that could live up to Dad. How is he?

Good, doing very well. He sends his love. Actually, we wanted to talk to you about something.

I'm all ears.

When he gets home...well...your Dad and I were thinking about adopting.

I was worried about her reaction. I wasn't sure what I was expecting but all she did was smile and embrace me.

Mum, I think that's a wonderful idea. I was hoping the two of you might settle on that.

Can we count on you to babysit? I joked.

Anytime.

After losing Adora I didn't think our hearts could bear it, but I think we're ready now.

I think so, too.

Ok, there's more, Doctor and it's definitely stuff I think you need to hear. But it's late and I have a letter-date with my husband. What say we finish up hurricane tales tomorrow?

Love across the stars,

-Your Mother-In-Law

**A/N Everything mentioned here (lest you think I'm trying to throw everything at them but the kitchen sink) is true. There was a mild earthquake in 1944 followed by the aforementioned hurricane. Also the dialogue from the Doctor is also real. A month or so ago cut dialogue from TATM was released and he was originally supposed to say the whole thing about Amy turning to dust from his perspective. There's a little more from the cuts I'm going to add in the next Chapter. In addition to that The Room of Tars is actually a real place in the Papal Palace, and it is red. As for the Pope's Box, I totally riffed off of something mentioned in "American Horror Story". Whether that exists or not, I'm not certain.**

**Trying to do some shades of foreshadowing, shades of the Library and just the strong theme throughout all the Pond seasons that nothing is ever, truly, really forgotten. Also, I just love to bring in bits of Rory mythology.**


	89. November 11, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

11th of November 1944

Dear Doctor,

Like silly, excited children Melody and I dared to peek outside on that second day. It was windy and a cold driving rain lashed from all directions. We crept down the stairs of our mostly empty flat all the way to the bottom level. The water swirled about our feet having infiltrated through a pane of broken glass in the lobby. I snapped a few pictures and then Melody and I gathered duct tape and plastic sheeting and sealed it as best we could.

I just want to stand on the porch and take a few pictures. I said grabbing my daughters hand with a conspiratorial wink.

We'd lost power so I had no way to know when the eye of the storm would be upon us. Right now it seemed safe enough to venture out for just a moment. Instead of cautioning with a, Be careful, Mum, Melody stepped right outside with me. Trash, soggy newspapers, wood, tree branches and a mans hat swirled in the deluge of rushing water that hurried past us along the streets and pavement. I took a few photos for myself and Rory and Melody and I got a few quick self portraits, hair whipping as we squinted into the wind. I've included one for you, Doctor, a new picture of your wife and your mother-in-law.

Later that evening as we were sitting enjoying one another company in the living room a thought occurred to me.

You know you didn't answer my question, yesterday, about what the Doctor was like after we left.

No, I didn't.

She got up quickly from her place on the floor and went to stand by the window.

We all talk about the Doctor in a certain way. She began. And make no mistake he facilitates it. We refer to him as a child, impetuous, rash, prone to tantrums, excitable, incorrigible but he's not you know. A child, I mean.

I was silent for a moment. Of course I know. I know how deep your emotions run, I know how raw your hearts are. I knew on Christmas when the three of us were so happily together. Even then was this lingering sadness in your eyes. I knew before then too, maybe even since you first asked me if I had an apple.

But we all play along don't we, Doctor. We lie to ourselves because you lie to yourself. We play and we pretend that you're invincible, that you can always move on. We pretend as though you're the King of OK. But you're not, are you? You're not OK? Even if you're out there, reading this, hearing my voice, maybe you're not OK. I don't know why its taken me so many years to write that, I think maybe because I didn't want Rory and I to assume we had larger place in your hearts than we did. I didn't want to presume that after all you've suffered and survived, we two would be the ones who broke your hearts again. It was too self centered, too egomaniacal. And since I'm being brutally honest...too painful. I can't bear to see you cry. I can't bear to think of you crying. It breaks me, Doctor. It's why I held you so tight on Christmas when you emerged into our dining room with tears in your eyes. It's why after we found our room the night that Idris died we came back and refused to leave you. There's two sides of you Doctor, the part of you that wants to be surrounded by people and friends and family all the time and the part of you that wants to and _thinks _ he deserves to be alone. My afterword may have been truncated but I still meant it, Don't be alone, Doctor. Don't ever, ever be alone. It's unhealthy for you. It's unnatural. It kills you, my love. Piece by piece. After the self imposed or otherwise separation you and Rory and I took from each other I saw how it had unraveled you each time we met. The spaceship, Mercy and then in Manhattan.

Melody warned me, she did, but I was selfish and I just didn't listen.

_Have you been letting him travel on his own?_

And I had, _we _ had, we'd tried to split our time with you and we'd been letting you kickabout on your own.

I felt so guilty. But I thought there'd be time. Even in Manhattan, I thought there'd be time.

When I told you, I wouldn't let the Angels have Rory, that no matter what, we had sheer will and true love, you scoffed.

"That's all? True love- against the Angels?"

I couldn't, in that moment look at you with anything but pity. My own Peter Pan had stopped believing in magic.

_You're right, River. I shouldn't have let him travel alone._

Even then, _already _ by then, you'd lost so much faith, in us, in yourself, in love. Then we go and leave you. We _left _ you.

I'm writing these thoughts down now just as they were running through my head then. I was terrified of what Melody would say next. What had she been hiding?

I know. I croaked out to her, I didn't even know how long I'd been silent. After I'd steadied my voice I pressed on. So...what happened after we left?

I looked at the stone and told him you'd made it back. You were alright. You were with Dad. But he flew into a rage. I've seen the Doctor's anger before, his his blind fury but never, ever anything like this. I tried to lead him ack safely into the TARDIS but he wouldn't have it.

She shuddered at the memory and I got to my feet to stand by her and extend an arm of support around her waist.

I said, She's gone now, Doctor, Amy's gone now. But he yanked away from me. He rushed towards it shouting,

"What about me? Gonna take me now?"

I was so frightened, because I just knew, I _knew _ he was a step away from letting it take him back as well.

Oh Raggedy Man, I couldn't believe what Melody had just said. I felt this sickening drop in my stomach at the idea that you'd even consider that.

My daughter continued.

I put my hand on his arm and I told him. It's weak, Doctor. I think it's done now. That was when he started bellowing, screaming at it,

"Tell your friends! Tell all the Angels, next time I see you, I will grind you into sand. I will make a desert of you."

I tried to make him stop. I tried to hold him but in the end he...

Melody's voice started to quiver and I pulled her close to me as she started to cry. Even so she went on.

He collapsed on the ground, holding his head in his hand and he just started to sob. He crumpled and let out the most...heart rending sound.

Melody raised her hand to her chest as if to clutch at her two hearts to defend against this fresh, old pain. I guided her on her shaky legs back to the sofa so that we might sit down.

I'd never seen him like that, Mum. Never. I've helped him, nearly every version of him through one tragedy or another but I had never seen him like this. I kept my eye on the Angel and got him to his feet and finally, finally back safely inside the TARDIS. It maybe the only time I really didn't know what to do for him. I took the TARDIS into the vortex and just let her cruise on autopilot. He was sitting on the landing, struggling to hold back tears. All I could think was, I have to be strong for him. And then that beautiful, broken man apologized to me.

He said, "I'm sorry River, they were your parents. I'm sorry, I didn't think."

And because I'd seen you, because I knew you were OK my response was a little cold.

It doesn't matter. I said to him.

"Of course it matters."

And then I told him, your message, Dad's message, _our _ message.

What matters is this, don't travel alone, Doctor.

And what did he say? I asked her.

He asked me to travel with him. Oh, Mum you don't know how badly I've wanted to hear that. You don't know for how many years I just wanted him to say, River, come away with me. But I knew I couldn't, I knew if I didn't set some sort of boundary then I'd never leave him.

What did you say?

I called him a psychopath.

You did what?

I called him a psychopath and I told him I would stay with him for awhile and I was definitely going to stay with him tonight. He seemed to agree with that and I started up the stairs towards the wardrobe to change. But I also wanted to go to the room you and Dad shared. Just to collect myself and maybe have a cry where he couldn't see me. I was surprised when he chased after me.

"Please darling, please." He begged.

He reached for my hand and we stood there like that for a few moments then he started to lead me to his bedroom. We-

Melody abruptly cut herself off cheeks going red.

I smiled and squeezed her hand.

It's alright, Melody. I'm your, Mum, you can tell me these things. You two made love.

She nodded.

It's just a little embarrassing.

It wasn't your first time was it?

Heavens, no. Oh Mum, I hope you didn't think I was a _virgin_, it has been a bit of a while since that's been true. Not to mention the Doctor paid more than a few visits to me in Stormcage. But this time was much more...intense. We were both so upset, so emotionally charged and when it was over we started crying all over again in each others arms. I didn't know if the tears would ever stop.

I travelled with him for awhile, the first trip we took was back to your house in Leadworth. I watched through the window as he talked to you as a little girl. I saw how you waited for him and I got to see again how he loved you so. After that he tried to put on a brave face but he was shattered. Time in the TARDIS is strange, immeasurable but I was with him for months, nearly a year. One day he said to me, "River. Wife. I need you to leave me now." I asked him why and he said, "Because I need to know that I can handle this on my own." I protested, telling him he didn't need to handle it by himself. I was there, I would always be there. But once the words were out of my mouth I still tasted the lie on my tongue. We were moving in opposite directions, drifting apart. The day was coming for both of us when we would lose each other, absolutely and permanently. Sometimes, when he looked at me over those long months I thought perhaps he was already seeing me dead. Stupidly, I honored his request. Not as if I would have had much of a choice. We parted and he promised me he'd be alright but his eyes told me the truth. By the time I came back to him...he was in seclusion.

Oh, Melody no. Why didn't you ever tell me any of this before?

Because I didn't think you could handle it. I didn't handle it all that well. I sent him a message, several messages on his psychic paper and he refused to answer me. I know had I needed help, had I truly required him he would have come but I didn't and I made that clear. I simply wanted to see my husband and make certain he was managing. So all I got from him was silence. It took me awhile to track him down but eventually I found him in England, 1892.

He'd changed the TARDIS desktop, you wouldn't even recognize it. She hates it of course but she'd do anything for him. It's colder now, bare bones, so austere and Gallifreyan and dark, Mum, it was just so dark. I was, well I was horrified and he took offense and we had a row. I asked him, How long have you been living like this, all alone in the dark. And he said, "Two or three hundred years, who can count?" I yelled at him that he was hiding and he yelled back he was retired, there's a difference.

"River, what you don't understand, what you've _never _ understood is that none of this matters. Not the lives we save or the bonds we make or break. The Universe is as cold as it feels and it takes its singular joy in breaking us. It's all just dust in the end. I for one am done trying to right the scales."

It was about this time in Melody's story, Doctor, that I dissolved into tears. You didn't listen. You didn't listen to us at all. We begged you not to be alone and you punished yourself and did just that.

And then? I prodded her.

Then I slapped him, hard. I told him, How dare you stand there and tell me to my face that my parents didn't matter. You're not the Doctor. I don't know who or _what _ you are. Or do I know you after all. Is this from whence The Valeyard's born?

I stopped her, she was talking so fast, throwing out so much information that I felt the storm outside was raging in my head.

What's The Valeyard?

That, Mother is a story for another time. But I can say that it caused him great offense and it hurt him, a lot. I didn't mean to. He didn't asked me to leave but he did stalk away. I found out he'd only recently made contact with Vastra, Jenny and Strax and they too were trying to engage him with little success. For one of the first times I thought of him as old. Bitter and damaged and old. He was so incredibly broken. God, you must be furious with me.

Me? Why?

Because you asked me to look after him. Maybe that's one reason why I never told you what happened after you both left.

Darling, I'm not mad at you. I asked you to look after him, true. But I never nor would I ever ask you to chain yourself to him. That wouldn't be right or fair. That's not marriage. I wouldn't ask River Song to sacrifice her autonomy anymore than I'd ask the Doctor. Not to mention it sounds as though he had his course set, with or without you. You did exactly what I asked, don't waste another second feeling bad about it. Do you hear me?

She nodded and I took several handfuls of tissue and divided them up between us.

The weather, the wind and the wet from outside had grown quiet, eerily so. Both Melody and I turned to the window silently.

I think we're in the eye. She said softly. That means we're halfway out.

Doctor, I spoke to Rory earlier this evening, before I started this journal entry but that means its even later now than usual. Rehashing all this is both emotionally draining and physically exhausting. I'll leave the rest for tomorrow.

I love you, Doctor

Rory and I are so very, very sorry for all those dark years you were alone.

Love across the stars,

Amy, Rory and Melody

Forever your Ponds.

**A/N: I wanted to fill in a few holes here. One thing I've noticed from comments on forums and Tumblr etc is that people think River left after she told the Doctor she wouldn't travel with him forever. But if you go back and watch TATM she actually walks up the stairs to disappear deeper into the TARDIS. The length of time she spent with him is unclear as is the length of time he spent travelling alone before he came to retire in Victorian London. I like Amy/Melody bonding time. I enjoy writing it, I always wish it had been explored more in the show. I think I'll be able to wrap up their hurricane time together in the next Chapter. This went on a little longer than I thought it would but I'm really pleased with it. As always thank you so much for your reviews. I just adore each and every one of them. I've gotten some of the nicest compliments on this story and they really help me through dreary days. Thank you so much and stay tuned!**

**Oh and again, all the dialogue here by the Doctor and River that takes place after Amy and Rory left about 'grinding the Angel to dust' is taken directly from the cut lines of TATM.**


	90. November 12, 1944

_**Yay! Snow storm today and while classes weren't cancelled (because my Uni enjoys risking our lives) my quiz on Faulkner (which I totally wasn't prepared for because I'm much more interested in getting chapters out for you fine people) was postponed. So double-yay, skipped class, stayed home and off the slick roads, ate cookie dough and hammered out another chapter.**_

_**With so little of Clara's story explained I wanted to mention her briefly but not run the risk of pretending like I know the answers to certain questions. Certain kinda-sorta Spoilers for Season 7/PT. 2 have been revealed, among them that River will be in the season finale AND that she still has a big secret she has yet to reveal to the Doctor. A secret only Alex and Steven Moffat know, Matt is totally in the dark. Exciting! So, I don't know when or if she's going to meet Clara or what's going to happen so while I choose to mention both Clara and the secret I also decided to leave things typically River-Ambiguous.**_

_**Oh and one more thing I made two changes to the last Chapter. 1) When I had River ask the Doctor how long had he been on his own I wrote "Two or three years" well, I meant "Two or three hundred years.". Much more dramatic! (I'm a shitty editor of my own work.) and 2) River watching the Doctor interact with Amy from inside the TARDIS is fine, except that I previously wrote that she barges in and the Doctor takes her on a tour. So I've changed it so that River hides during that time.**_

_**OK, allons-y!**_

* * *

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

12th of November 1944

Dear Doctor,

You don't really need an introduction after all this, do you. What say we just jump right in?

I asked Melody,

What happened then?

I visited him, during his time in the clouds. He had the TARDIS parked high above the streets of London. I tried to get him to travel, to go away with me. I tried to foster some sort of intimacy between us but he wasn't interested. He wouldn't even kiss me.

But in your letter, you told me he was better.

He is. He's just not the same. He's a different man now.

She must have seen the look of horror on my face because she quickly added.

I don't mean to say he's regenerated. He's just different.

What helped to make him better?

We were drinking hot chocolate in my bedroom, camped out on the bed away from the noises of the storm. The clinking of our spoons in our mugs were all the sounds that filled the room.

Pond. She said finally. A mystery and the only word that could shake him out of his depression.

Clara, the girl you wrote me about? Have you met her, yet?

Yes...and so have you in a manner of speaking.

No...no not that I recall.

On the Dalek Homeworld, she was Souffle Girl.

Wait...what?

The Doctor's reaction exactly.

But she died.

Indeed, and not for the first or last time.

I don't understand.

Neither does he, at least not yet.

Do you like her?

I'm reserving judgement. But no matter what I'm grateful that she is helping him.

More marshmallow? I asked her, reaching for the bag we'd conveniently placed on the nightstand.

Please. She said offering me her mug.

I suppose if she helped him I'm grateful too.

Mother? She singsonged.

I sighed and smiled into my cup.

Alright, If we're being _honest_. I'm a little jealous. But it's miniscule in comparison to my gratitude at someone helping him.

It's alright, every so often I get a touch jealous too. They do love to _kiss _ him don't they?

Always a little too much for my taste. Did you ever see the slew of companions that man has had? I skimmed through them once after the Byzantium, filled with girls, one of them in a leather bikini, no less! Or should I say, no more!

Ah yes, Leela. She was a looker.

He's a space lothario isn't he?

Melody chuckled.

Not quite, some incarnations fancy themselves to be, but he just appeals to men and women. They all want to go with him. Those two words, Follow me, are a powerful call and sometimes a remarkable aphrodisiac.

I decided to change the subject then, Doctor, for fear of treading down an inadvisable road.

He knows you come to see us. Does he let you talk about it?

She sighed and stretched out, her blonde curls spreading out upon the mattress.

No. That's a line he won't cross.

But the picture you gave to Rory for his birthday. I mean, he must acknowledge it someway.

That was one of the last trips the Doctor and I took together before he asked me to leave him. It was very hard for him but he so badly wanted to do it.

He's popped up in our memory. Only barely, he jumped back and left us flowers and a note for our anniversary.

He might get better with it over the years. I'm not really sure, Mum. If I was dead-

I shook my head, No.

Don't- don't ever say such a thing.

Alright, She placated me. If someone I cared deeply about was dead, I don't know that I'd just be able to pop back into the past whenever I wanted to to see them. I think emotionally speaking it might kill me. Imagine that, everyday, talking with a ghost?

You come back to see us.

That's different. I already knew something was going to happen. It wasn't a shock, it wasn't a terrible loss that I had to deal with at that moment. But I'm not exempt, I _will _ have to deal with it, someday. And the truth is, as exciting and challenging as my life can be I'm just not as busy as the Doctor. I can come back and spend days with you and I can move forward knowing you're here and you're safe and I can see you again. He doesn't work like that, he can't. He's lost so many people over the years and temporally speaking they're _all _ still out there, somewhere in some unvisited pocket of time. If he let himself to live in the past he'd get rooted there. His Timelord instinct won't allow it but it also won't let him leave you fully. I leave little corners of my mind open to him sometimes when we're sleeping. Corridors that don't contain anything about his future that he can roam through if he likes. Corridors that are only my memories of you and Dad and this house. I feel him moving through me and I feel the comfort he draws from being able to see you again. But that comfort is so heavy with sadness. He knows that I know, but its unspoken. Marriage is sometimes about letting them have their dreams isn't it...or yours?

Yes, I guess so.

I thought about all the times I'd made certain to put on a cheery face for Rory. These last few months without him had been hard. I found myself leaving out huge chunks of my day when we wrote to one another just to protect him.

He's afraid, of losing his purpose, his bearings, his mind. I never told him this but one night I woke up and as I was walking through the TARDIS I heard him speaking with you. And I heard you answering.

What do you mean?

The TARDIS voice interface, he'd apparently coaxed it into sentience and there's so much of you and Dad still there I think it had enough to draw on to mimic a bit of your personalities.

I almost felt as thought I shouldn't ask, Doctor, but I couldn't help myself. I hope you aren't embarrassed. You know I love you and I talk to you all the time.

What did he say? I asked while squeezing her hand.

I didn't linger. It felt...private. Intimate. Sad. The next day was when he asked me to leave him. I'm not certain if he knew I was there or not.

My poor Doctor. I said wiping away even more tears. I just didn't have any idea he was so wrecked. Melody, have you ever seen him reading. Rory and I keep journals and all our correspondence. We were hoping it might be a way for us to say goodbye to him, to show him that we are..._were,_ in the end, ok.

I haven't seen reading anything but it could be we haven't crossed that point in one anothers timeline yet. Or maybe I never see it. But keep writing. I know how much it would mean to him to have such a special part of you and Dad. Your place in his life and his place in yours isn't exactly over yet. Theres a time, a definite moment when all stories end. I think-

She abruptly cut herself off.

What?

Spoilers. She said with a smile.

Of course. You used to tease the Doctor with that word.

Still do, She said with a Cheshire grin.

I guess it's my turn now. Do you remember when we first met at the crash of the Byzantium?

Of course.

I was so impressed by you.

Me? What did I do? She asked and there was not a hint of false modesty, she really wanted to know.

The very first words you said to me were, He thinks he's so hot when he does that!

Oh yes, I recall now.

I thought you were amazing. I saw this incredible woman who kept the Doctor in check, who was fearless and brave. I knew you were going to be Mrs. Doctor, which I told him. I so admired you. I thought to myself, that's a woman I want to be like.

Mother, She began, clasping both my hands in hers. Everything I was then, everything I am now, I learned from you. What you saw was my poor impersonation of the most amazing woman I'd ever met, you. I don't think even you know how far you've come since then, or how much you've taught me. You were so young, so unsure of so many things, yourself, Dad, the Doctor. You had no idea how much lay within you. I wanted to hug you so badly. I feel it's fairly safe to say you would have freaked out if I'd called you Mum!

I was so touched, Doctor, so moved that she drew strength from me, from silly, troubled, crazy, flighty Amelia Pond.

All of a sudden Mels words came back to me.

_It took me years to find you two. I'm so glad I did. And you see, it all worked out in the end, didn't it? You got to raise me after all. Where would I be without the two of you?_

In our own strange way Rory and I did get to raise her. Trying to teach her how to behave, how not to get into trouble, right from wrong. And most of all we just tried to love her, love our dearest, best friend as best we could.

We kind of took a break after that, Doctor. The last few days had been filled with a lot of intense conversation and quite frankly we needed something a little pause to brighten the mood. We actually did a few silly girly things. We painted our nails, fiddled with our hair and I even let her cut a few inches off of mine. We went through my closet by candlelight which of course meant I had some red cheeked explaining to do when we came across the police woman and French maid outfits respectively.

Mum, we're you a stripper? A little side job even Mels didn't know about?

No! I was a kiss-o-gram. It's like a singing telegram except that I delivered the message with a kiss. No stripping involved, your Dad might have gone apoplectic at that. Not that that would have stopped me if I'd wanted to.

Oh, I know that much. But why, exactly do you still keep the costumes about? She asked a cheeky twinkle in her eye.

Nostalgia. I said with a quirk of a smile. So, what adventure did I pull you out of to come here?

I was with the Doctor. The Seventh Doctor and Ace in this year actually, 1944. We were captured by Nazi's and shennaigans ensued. They thought we were British spies. We escaped, obviously. It was great fun.

What's he like?

Delightful at first. Funny, clownish, silly, joyful.

Sounds familiar. I grinned. I always love hearing about you Doctor.

He's smart, obviously and so, so courageous. He is Times Champion. But he changes over time, he grows colder, angrier, more manipulative, forcing people away from him. But I love him, I love all versions of him.

Do you have an intimate relationships with every version of him.

Some of them. I've certainly put the Fifth Doctor through his paces.

Melody! I said giving her a playful smack on the arm.

You're the one who said I could tell you such things! She retorted.

So I did, go on then.

But with the Seventh Doctor, for instance, we spend most of our time having adventures, playing chess and chatting. I can't choose a favorite, but I am quite partial to him. He plays the spoons. He frequently mangles idioms, one of my favorites being "Time and tide melt the snowman." Oh and he speaks with a Scottish accent you know, and that's a timbre I find very, very comforting. The truth is whatever Doctor you're with is the one you love most at that moment.

Have you met them all?

Almost, I have yet to meet his Tenth yet as well as a few others. I'm looking forward to it.

You haven't met his Twelfth have you? I asked trepidatiously.

No. Thankfully, no. I am in love with this Doctor. Our Doctor. My Doctor. I realize, I'm absolutely going back on everything I just said...Eleven is my favorite and he has my heart like no other.

He knows that. He loves you so much. It's as plain as the nose on Dad's face. But why doesn't he remember meeting you?

Mnemosine Recall Wipe Vapor. Handy little amnesia gas, lets me visit with him and then clear his memory of me.

The next question was one I was more than a little afraid to ask. So afraid in fact that I never dared to even ask you, Doctor.

Melody, what happens to the two of you when the Doctor regenerates. What happens to how he used to feel about us?

Not used to, still does feel. It's hard to say. His memories aren't erased, they're still in tact. His personality changes, there's not doubt about that but the core of him, the soul remains. Mother, he will always love us. Always.

I ran my finger over the rim of my wine glass before putting it to the side.

Did the Doctor have children?

Yes, yes he did. Children and grandchildren and great grandchildren. All lost to him now.

He opens up to you, completely doesn't he?

As completely as the Doctor can, yes.

Love, have you and the Doctor talked about children.

Mum, I'm not pregnant if that's what you're hinting at. I think we've been through that, plus I'd tell you, you and Dad both.

No, I don't think you're pregnant now. But have the two of you discussed it?

She sighed and for a moment seemed distracted by the howling winds outside.

Umm..

Let me guess, he doesn't want to.

No, no if you can believe it, I'm not sure if _I _ want to.

Why?

It's a thousand things. Our time line, our natures, I love him but I can't live with him, I will not be cooped up in the ship for eternity.

Not cut out to be a TARDIS-housewife?

Not remotely. He's my husband but he plays at a stability that I don't think he can maintain.

I inched closer to her and put my arm about my daughters shoulders.

Do you want kids?

Oh God, yes Mum, of course I do. Of course I want to bear his children. But not running from Sontarans or battling Macra. Would you hate me if I said I was ever so slightly jealous of you?

No, but I am surprised. There have been children on the TARDIS before.

Would you have kept me there? If the Doctor had delivered me to you safe and sound?

Rory and I talked about that. We always used protection on the TARDIS and though we weren't planning for kids, we hesitantly agreed that in some ways, there wasn't a safer place in the universe. If it happened it happened. So yes, had we gotten you back we would have raised you, at least for part of the time on board. So long as the Doctor would have us. We were all a family and I didn't want to ever be parted from him. Neither of us did.

I need excitement, I need thrills and chases and to be dodging enemy fire. But sometimes, just sometimes I imagine what it might be like to have a little house on some quiet little planet filled with a dozen or so impossible children and one incredibly mercurial husband.

You sound just like Rory. I laughed. He's instinctually drawn to the quiet life and he always wanted a house full of kids. I think I started off more like you. I craved excitement. Did I ever tell you about when we got trapped by the Dreamlord?

Oh dear, one of the Doctor's nastier alter egos.

There's more than one?

Many, many more.

I proceeded to relate to her the elaborate dream, the sleepy village of Leadworth. I even imitated Rory's version of a humble-brag. It's actually Upper Leadworth, we've moved slightly up-market. I was, from the feel of it, about eight months pregnant, he was ecstatic, I was restless. I remember we'd had a conversation where he said he wanted at least five kids, maybe more. That terrified me then. Now, I think it would be wonderful. When I was young, I was willing to risk all the wrong things trying to be happy. Now I know better. I know putting my heart out there is a risk. But its a good one and one I want to take now.

I reached out to stroke my daughter's cheek.

Just consider it. Consider making a weird, strange life with the Doctor. Being a mum is awesome. Trust me on that. And as I said last year, I'd love to be a Gran.

I'll think about it, I promise.

You see, Doctor, I'm always going to bat for you. Wouldn't you love to have a brand new Timelord, maybe a ginger running around calling you Dad. You should have that, my love. You deserve it, you deserve to be happy.

Mum, may I ask you something? She said breaking into my thoughts.

Of course.

Were you..._are_ you, in love with the Doctor?

I sighed. I think I'd hoped we'd left this behind last year with our letters. But I couldn't blame her for being curious.

Do you really want me to answer that?

I think you just did. And Dad?

I can't rightly speak for him but I think..yeah, Dad too.

She looked contemplative but she didn't say anymore.

Are we ok?

We're always ok, Mum.

I studied her face to see if she meant it and was immensely relieved to see that she did. She had every right to be angry with me, distrustful, maybe even jealous. But she wasn't. My daughter is a good woman, Doctor. Perhaps a better woman than I. I wonder is she as forgiving and generous with you. Have you had to explain our...what...tryst? indiscretion? to her in detail. No, I change my mind, I don't like any of those words. That's not what we had. That's not what we did. I won't diminish it like that. I'm going to be running this through my head for the rest of my life, aren't I?

So tell me what you do when you're not with the Doctor?

Oh lot's of things. Travelling. Lot's of exploring. Archaeological digs. I love old things, he hates when I make that joke and give him a pointed look. But he always laughs. I keep busy. I have a good life, I hope you and Dad know that.

We'd hoped so. We just want you to be happy. Always and forever happy.

We hugged tightly and warmly and in true cinematic fashion the power suddenly came back on. I laughed with my daughter and we went about the apartment cleaning up the take-away container/junk food wrapper damage two rather emotional women had wrought on the apartment over the past few days.

Goodness I think it's safe to say we eat a lot more when the lights are out. She joked.

Well I don't regret a moment of it!

Me neither!

She stayed with me the rest of the night and as long as breakfast the next morning. We shared a teary goodbye and she promised she'd be back for Thanksgiving. After that life, essentially returned to normal.

If you're lucky the storm clouds do pass, don't they Doctor? All in all we've all been pretty lucky.

I know I was.

I have always been.

I am.

Love across the stars, Doctor

I love you.

Amy

_**I'm over 90 thousand words in with nearly 300 reviews and over 100 follows, all of which is pretty mind-boggling when I think about the early days of this story when I was begging for reads and reviews and thinking maybe I should just give up. Thanks a lot guys. Sometimes I think I'm taking too long and then I read tonight on TV Tropes about a Beatles Fan Fic that a girl started in 1980 when she was 15 and finished in 2009. With that in mind, I think I'm doing ok and I'll take my time, though probably not 29 years...probably...**_


	91. Sometime in the year 4892

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Personal Correspondence From Melody Williams/Prof. River Song  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

Sometime in the year 4892

Dear Dad,

I've was visiting with Mum for a few days about a month or so ago, just keeping her company and catching up on life. I love spending time with her, it's different than it was when I was Mels, but trying to explain how different is beyond my ability. I liked being their in your flat, surrounded by your things, your memories. It's always so tempting to stay. But it's difficult to be there without you. Both of us, at the same time found ourselves looking up towards doorways, always expecting you to walk in, a big silly grin on your face. We both love it when you call us your girls. We love rushing into your arms, we love your tight embrace. I for one just love feeling like I belong. Only one other man in the world makes me feel that way.

Mum is well, she misses you, but she's well. I thought you'd like to know that from a relatively impartial source.

I'm doing fine too. Unearthing ruins, helping to overthrow corrupt governments on distant worlds, you know, keeping busy and for the most part staying out of trouble. I was so close to you recently, just a few days ago. The Seventh Doctor and I were locked away in Colditz Castle by the buggering Nazi's. Mother says you've been camped near the Rhine for weeks now and even without a vortex manipulator Leipzig, Dresden isn't that far. But I couldn't think of a plausible way to just appear out of the blue in the midst of the lead up to the Battle of the Bulge for the sole purpose of giving my Dad a hug.

I could do with a great big hug from you though.

I have a care package on the way that will hopefully catch up to you soon. But in the meantime I wanted to send you something Mum couldn't. While I was there she drifted off to sleep and it occurred to me that's something you probably miss. Turning over in bed and seeing her sleeping next to you... So here's a picture I snapped of her, deep in dreams. I thought it might be something you could look at before you go to bed each night. I thought it could bring you comfort while you're so far away.

I've been thinking about you so much recently. I was just on the Earth colony Parsis a few months ago in 4045 and guess what was playing at the local cinema? A Laurel and Hardy retrospective! Remember when we were...I don't 14 or 15 and the three of us snuck out to the all night showing of their classics at the Leadworth Theater. Amy was bored out of her mind but you and I were sitting there, right in the front row, laughing ourselves silly. Remember struggling through classes the next day, trying to keep our eyes open and stay awake? Oh but it was worth it! I was about the only person in that little theater on Parsis, but I sat right in the front row and pretended you were there with me. We have to do something like that again Dad and soon.

I just want you to know, that no matter what, if anything were to ever happen to me I would never just disappear from your lives. I've made arrangements to ensure that won't happen. I'm not trying to worry you, I'm fine, really I am, it's just we all lead such dangerous lives and it only makes sense to acknowledge that the worst could someday happen. It's just been on mind alot lately and I felt I needed to tell you. I couldn't quite tell Mum.

Oh bother, you probably think I'm hinting at something here and I swear, Dad, I'm not. I've just had some past weeks that were extra crazy, even for me. Being here with Mum has made me feel rather domestic, but on top of that it's reinforced the notion that I have a family now and I have a real responsibility to you both as my parents. And when you adopt, which I think is a smashing idea by the way, I'll have a responsibility to my new brother or sister. I just need you to know you can count on me. I can be responsible. I'm not that same person who used to go about vandalizing things and stealing buses. Ok, well I still am but in a much more reasonable and respectable way. You both think I'm such a good girl, I just want to live up to that. Perhaps I'm finally growing up.

Ok, enough blubbering from me.

The Doctor misses you, the TARDIS misses you and both send their love.

I miss you too.

Please stay safe. Your girls are counting the days until you come home.

Love,

Your daughter, Melody

Oh, P.S. Mum let me cut her hair a bit. Do you like it? We both do. Even if you don't for heaven's sake don't tell her!


	92. December 23 1944

_**The fact that there were so many parallels between Rory and the Doctor that could have been explored but were left untouched on the show just kills me. I know TV is limting, but that should be what books are for, but the books rarely address it either. So, I guess that's what fanfiction is for. It's so obvious as to why Amy would have fallen for them both, in certain ways, circumstance has made them two sides of the same coin. I imagine the Doctor realizing that more and more as he reads. Thought it would make him love Rory even more it would also make the loss more acute. I have had the final part of this chapter written for months, I was just waiting for the right moment to stick it in.**_

_**A brief historical note, I have Rory engaged in The Battle of the Bulge, the largest and in terms of loss of life, the costliest battle of WW2. **_

_**As always my translations from English to German are from my online searches and translation sites. If it's wrong and you can properly correct it, I'm all ears. :)**_

* * *

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Doctor Rory Arthur Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

23rd of December 1944

Dear Doctor,

I'm writing you from a makeshift infirmary, but don't worry, I'm fine. I got nicked by a bullet in the calf but no worries, it went straight through. I bandaged myself and kept moving but eventually it got infected. When I knew it was just a matter of time before it went septic I allowed myself to be treated. As I said, I'm fine now and should be back on the front within the next few days.

For this I received two citations the Purple Heart and the Silver Star. The first for the wound and the second for charging at a German machine gunner and taking his three man crew out with a grenade. It was a desperate and perhaps unwise things to do but we were pinned down and had been for hours, unable to move. To avoid a wholesale slaughter I...well, I suppose I did what I had to do. Bravery just means you're very good at looking not terrified, but I think you know that, Doctor. I was scared witless, but something else within me took over. Something that I trust and that saw me through year after year and campaign after campaign.

A few thousand years ago as _Legatus Legionis_, I was crowned with the title _Ruaidhri Brittanicus Maximus _ which was followed by _Germanicus Maximus_, _Francicus, Gothicus _and_ Medicus._ They all just roughly translate to Rory, The Great Victor of and then fill in the blank. It sounds a lot better in Latin, doesn't it? Most things do. I've been knighted, once by Richard the I and then again by Queen Bess and received other varying commendations through the years. And each time I felt just as nervous and unsure then as I do now. I'm only doing my job, as always what is required of me to keep Amy safe. I am and ever shall be a loyal soldier and a loyal soldier requires no reward for for said loyalty. Which is not to say I'm not proud, I am, I always just get really embarrassed. The very first thing I ever won was a certificate in Primary School when I was 7 for good behaviour and perfect attendance. I think that was the same year Amy got in trouble for kicking the headmaster in the shins. In any case, when the time comes, I will collect my medals with humility and respect. But always, I feel I understand you a little better, Doctor. I recall now how you hated for people to call you sir or salute, it feels false doesn't it? To accept it, feels as though I'm giving myself airs.

I write to you now, perched high in the mountains entrenched in the frozen mud and muck of France. We are victims of our own success, Doctor. After Normandy, the Allies as a whole advanced towards Germany faster than expected. The line we hold here in Ardennes is thin. Besides Cherbourg, which the Germans effectively ravaged, we have no deep water ports under our power which means resupplying transports and drops are few and far between.

I recall freezing during the raw and brutal winter of the Battle of Mursa Major in 351 BC. I froze during the Crimean War in 1855 amidst the scandalous treatment of soldiers by the British Army and I freeze again now.

The snow here is a thick and unrelenting blanket. It assaults from all directions, wet, heavy clinging. The fog is dense and impenetrable to the point where I can barely see the man no further than arms length at my side. The trees are tall and foreboding and I feel as though they hold every danger possible both conceived and unimaginable We all feel that way and the deeper we advance into the forest the more we feel it gleefully close around us, happy that fools would so willingly enter its jaws.

It's nighttime now, quiet and still, the heavy snow both muffles and amplifies and I'm writing this by one of the brightest moons I've ever known..

My men and I are exhausted, hungry, filthy, stressed and stretched past our limits. Morale is low and I struggle everyday to aid them in keeping their spirits up and their guns ready. When our new chaplain is busy, which is actually quite often, the men come to me for spiritual advice. I struggle for the words I know they need to hear, but I feel more like a sham with each passing day. I'm no holy man, Doctor but I must provide what buffer I can against the depression of lost lives and lost limbs and the endless barrage of artillery fire.

As for myself, I actually find that I miss Jack. I think his irreverence would be a welcome relief at this point. I think he's the most optimistic realist I've ever met. I keep most of this from Amy. I tell her it's cold but I'm alive and we keep moving. This is the truth or at least a part of it. It's the only truth I can bear to write to my wife. So I hope you don't mind Doctor that I'm dumping this weariness on you.

The one mercy I suppose is always that this time around I don't have the Pandorica to protect, to worry about andf fret over. I only have to look after myself. I was pressed into service to the Knights Templar in the Middle Ages, mercifully I avoided participation in the Crusades. The Pandorica became their prized posession and decade upon decade was spent trying to decipher and open it. Because they held such favor with the people and the church I felt safe with it being housed their under my watchful eye. But when the Knights fell out of favor with Pope Clement V, Amy and I again found ourselves on the move. I briefly donated it to the Vatican in 1231 and not long after had to win it from Marco Polo in a card game. The Pandorica was taken from my possession several times and each time I felt absolutely lost, and filled with a kind of fear I can't put into words. But I always got it back. I always got my Amy back.

When I fall asleep here I sometimes don't know what life I'm waking up to. Am I auton Rory or human Rory. It's hard to tell, I've done all this before. So many wars, so many battles, my thoughts always turning towards Amy. Even waking up on the TARDIS sometimes left me unsure

Inevitably, what always prompted me to finally decide it was time to move the Pandorica was a surprise confrontation. The one that comes to mind now occured after the Blitz. I was near one of the channels and came across three Germans, most likely on a reconnaissance mission. When they saw me in my centurion gear they started laughing.

_Was trägt er?_

_Er muss denken, dass er Mark Antony ist!_

In German I told them to leave this place. I had no quarrel with them but if they stayed I'd be forced to fight. They continued laughing and started to take an interest in the box.

They started talking about how they would kill me and take. Perhaps call in a division to help with the transport. But they alone would get the credit and present it as a prize and tribute to the Fuhrer . Perhaps it would even earn them a C_harakter_ rank of _Oberleutnant._

I warned them once more. I told them what would happen. And I knew if they left now, I would have the Pandorica out of the vicinity before they could report my location.

But they refused to listen and started to advance upon me.

I pulled out my sword and I beheaded the first man. Before the others could react I ran the second man through. The third one I had to chase down. He was screaming in the night and I feared his cries could be heard even over the bombing.

He kept shouting;

Verrückter mit einer kiste!  
Verrückter mit einer kiste!  
Verrückter mit einer kiste!

I finally caught up to him and forcing him to his knees I snapped his neck. I can still hear him sometimes, see those eyes looking up at me in fear before they went dull and dark. I would be damned before I allowed the Reich, the Axis or the Allies for that matter to get ahold of the Pandorica. It would not happen no matter how many men I had to kill in the process. And though I'd do it all over again, in a moment, in a heartbeat I can still hear him screaming.

Madman with a box!  
Madman with a box!  
Madman with a box!

Remember when I asked you if you had a room, Doctor? Is there a bed and if so, do you sleep at night? Do you sleep well?

Sometimes...I don't.

A belated Happy Birthday, my friend, (How many candles must that cake have now, eh?) I'm sorry I couldn't be there for yours or Amy's.

Take care of yourself and should you not hear from me beforehand, Happy Christmas.

All my love,

Rory


	93. December 24, 1944

_**Another Tuesday, another snowstorm, another cancelled Lit. Class and another Chapter or maybe 2, we'll see. I did some research on the Los Alamos facility for this letter, read a couple of great articles and skimmed through a few books written by people who lived there. This branch of the Manhattan Project was cloaked in incredible secrecy. But it was also a mess, the housing, the facilities, the school system. It was hard living with little contact with the outside world given the importance of their work. **_

* * *

24th of December 1944

My Dear Amy,

I am so very sorry for not having written to you in so long. I received you last letter and it gladdened my heart. I know that by now Dorabella has informed you of my situation. There has been little time to adjust to the stark differences between Chalk River and Los Alamos. I was plunged into my duties here and have not had even a moment to look back.

Dorabella will be joining me within the next month I believe. It has been so difficult to obtain the proper permission and papers required and that in part accounts for the delay in her arrival. Our status as foreigners doesn't help matters.

I cannot say much. If I did it would most likely be redacted or this letter would be burned. I shall try to keep to generalities and pleasantries. I just wanted to warn you so that if you find my correspondence to be cold, distant or shamefully infrequent you not take it personally.

This facility was not put together with nearly the same amount of care as Chalk River, everything is rather slapdash. The weather is brutal, the snow and slush mix with the mud and overrun the sidewalks, coal soot covers everything and the summers promise to be their own unique version of hell. Housing is limited along with countless other basics, including water. Ironic considering the leaky nature of the faucets. I have managed to secure a small three room flat, bedroom/bath/kitchen. A job it was thought could be done with 60 to 80 men has seen this community swell to over 6000. That alone has put a tremendous strain on this upstart town. The wind whips through the thin buildings at night and I get the distinct impression that it might crumble down around me. Of course _that _ gives the impression that I'm able to get much sleep. We work 12 to 16 hour days, 6 days a week, moving from site to site, project to project, exhaustion to exhaustion. I don't require sleep, however I do enjoy time to myself to write to Dorabella as well as you.

I eat in the general commissary with my colleagues, we have a movie theater that shows films three nights a week. There's a small frozen lake that might be ideal for skating should Dorabell arrive before the thaw. These are some of the brighter spots.

However we are restricted from telephone use outside of those available at the Post, our mail must be delivered to censors unsealed, our ability to take photographs is all but prohibited. Secrecy, absolute and total secrecy is the word of this day and every day.

I've taken up smoking again, I hope you'll pardon me, my dear.

How are you my dear. I miss you so. I miss your irreverent take on the world. I miss your boisterous letters and the youthful exuberance you bring into my life.

Your letters to me, however will not be censored and I so look forward to receiving them. Please know that even if I fail to respond I have read and re-read them time and time again. How are things with you and dear Rory? I sincerely hope all is well and that you know how both of you frequently occupy my thoughts.

Oh, and lest I forget, Merry Christmas. Here's hoping next year will see us all in better spirits and circumstances.

-Always yours,

Bracey


	94. December 25, 1944 (Rory)

**Supplemental: Archival Records **  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Provided Courtesy of Mr. Brian Anthony Williams**

25th of December 1944

Dear Doctor,

I can hear the strains of choir singing at the makeshift midnight mass which means it is officially Christmas. My first Christmas in a long while without Amy and it's very, very hard. I miss her terribly and being away during the holidays is a special kind of misery. On top of that, I still haven't been released from the infirmary yet. The truth is that Doctor's like to override other Doctor's, it's an absurd power thing. I say I'm well enough to return to the fight they pretend to respectfully disagree.

I guess I'm not entirely sure it even matters. Christmas in an infirmary, Christmas next to the icy slush of the forest. I feel as far away from Amy this moment as I do from you. Honestly I feel like crying. I never would, not here, but the weight of this past year is extraordinarily heavy tonight.

I'm questioning myself, Doctor. Have I done the right thing? Were we both so frightened about this border around Manhattan that we can't cross that we made it up? I don't believe that's true though, I trust my instincts, I've never been served by doubting them. But still, a part of me won't let go of the idea that we should have run. I'm not exactly afraid of dying but I am ever afraid of making Amy a widow. Being here riles my blood and make me take chances, chances I would never dream of taking anywhere else. I hate how the fight get's into your bones, Doctor, because it does. I feel vulnerable and stir crazy right now without a rifle in my hands. I hope, should I make it out of here and back home that this feeling dies away as it always has in the past. I lived for years and years in peace as an auton. I hope I haven't given you the impression that it was all bitter battle and worry. I lived for many, many years peacefully amongst the Celtic tribe known as the Brigantes in the Tyne Valley. I spent my days farming in wonderful solitude and talking to Amy. The hills and slopes of the land were perfect for camouflaging the Pandorica. It was actually one of the happier times for me, just me and the wife, winding our days away. It's the same peace I'd grown to feel in Manhattan.

May I be shockingly honest, Doctor? There are occasions when I wish she hadn't come back for me. Not because I didn't want her to. Not because it wasn't the happiest day of my life to see her on the street that morning of the hurricane. But because she's been through enough. Haven't I hurt her enough? I've trapped her here in the past, I'm thousands of miles away and unable to protect her. She would have been safer with you. I know she loves me just as strongly as I love her. But maybe, had he stayed with you, you could have helped her forget. Perhaps, you could have _made _ her forget. You told me once about your other friend and how you erased her memory. I don't know how I could live without Amy except if I knew she was safe and with you.

Don't forget what you have to do should it come to that. It's written and you read it, so I won't repeat it here. But I expect you to live up to your word. You owe us that.

And it's not just Amy. I got this letter from Melody, a lovely letter. She's been looking after her mum, spending time with her. She also said she's been missing me as I've been missing her. But throughout it all there was this theme of, I won't disappoint you, Dad. She's so worried about letting us down or not living up to some standard that we've set for her. But it isn't true, I am so incredibly proud of my daughter, today and everyday. My little girl is amazing and wonderful and brilliant and no father could be prouder. But you see I feel this is my fault too. Having made sure we were stuck here, like I did, assures that she's stuck here as well. Putting her life on hold, dropping back to visit us, taking time away from her own goals and dreams and even taking time away from you. This isn't fair. None of this is fair.

I'm sorry, Doctor. I'm usually not this maudlin. But it's the Christmas music juxtaposed against the sound of bombs and artillery fire that's driving me a bit mad. It's my wifes favorite holiday and the reality of being even farther from her than when she was caged in the Pandorica. It's all those things and more. I just wish I was with her right now.

If I could I'd-

**Curator's Note: This is not an error on our part. Doctor Williams' journal entry cuts off abruptly here.**


	95. December 23, 1944 (Melody)

_**A/N: Ok, so I thought about leaving you guys hanging a bit. You know make you fret and nail-bite about the cliffhanger but I just could't resist posting another short chapter tonight. When I'm on a roll I figure I should just go with it.**_

* * *

_**Curators Historical Footnote: The following correspondence was sent via an archaic method of subversive communication known as "Underlay". Underlay involves one layer of text being hidden beneath another layer. Doctor Song contacted the Doctor using Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams' diary. The page upon which the former wrote would appear blank to the latter allowing for the clandestine transmission of said message to the Doctor.**_

**Message sent via Journal of Amelia Pond-Williams**  
**Time Delayed: From Doctor River Song/Melody Pond to the Doctor  
Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

23 of December 1944

Dear Sweetie,

I might be a little late for our date tonight but don't blow those candles out just yet.

I had to give Dad a ride home.

It wasn't hard to locate him and I just couldn't resist. I donned a nurses outfit, (which by the way, Sweetie, I am _definitely _ keeping so you and I can play our own special version of Hospital later) snuck into the infirmary where they were keeping him, grabbed his wrist and before he could say anything I brought him to Manhattan.

Melody, darling, what are you doing?

We arrived in he and Mum's bedroom I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him as tight as I could.

Every good soldier deserves a furlough. This is my Christmas present to you, Dad. To you and Mum. I can get you back no more than a minute after you left. But, I just thought you both needed some time together, alone.

I just... I don't even know what to say.

Doctor, you should have seen his face. I saw tears well up in his eyes and he hugged me again. The kind of hug I imagine only your father can give you, tight and bracing. It squeezes you so hard you can barely breathe and all you want is for him to hold you even tighter.

Thank you, my little love.

You're welcome, Daddy.

He was thinner than when I last saw him, the exhaustion showed on his face. He looked older. I worry about what he's seen and what memories have been stirred to the surface. Just the way I worry for you, Doctor.

Where's your Mum?

That's the best part. It's the morning of the 23rd. I made plans to meet her for breakfast and then she and Sunny and I are going to spend the day together. Then I'm going to bring her back here. Don't worry, you'll have tonight, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and your birthday. I'll come back for you on the 27th and get you back to France just a few minutes after you left. If they suspect you were missing at the most they'll figure you went to the loo.

But-

I know, Dad. You want to see her now. But you're exhausted and filthy. Take a shower, have a bite to eat, then take a nap, a really long one. You'll want to look and feel your best when you see her. Come on, daughters orders.

He quite reluctantly relented.

You're right. I love you, Melody. Thank you so much for this.

Anything for you, Dad. I mean that.

I know you do. You're not going to tell her are you?

Of course not, she hates to have a Christmas surprise spoiled. Now, I'm going to have a quick change and pop off to meet Mum. I'll see you this evening.

See you then, dear.

I watched him shuffle off to the shower, bemused and happy and when he turned on the water I sat down to scribble this off to you. I've got a busy day ahead of me but it promises to be a delightful one.

Then, I believe, Nurse Song has quite an evening in store for you.

You strike me as a very unruly patient, Sweetie. I may just have to strap you down.

Kiss-Kiss,

River


	96. December 23, 1944 (Rory)

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Entry By Doctor Rory Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

23rd of December, 1944

Dear Doctor,

I'm using Amy's journal because when Melody brought me here I accidentally left mine behind. A day can turn around in a flash, can't it

Mid shower, Spartacus came bursting through the door nearly fightening me to death. He jumped into the bathtub and greeted me with typical canine exuberance. He's so big now and I'd forgotten how much I missed him. I happily petted him until he calmed down and he waited dutifully for me outside of the shower on our rug.

God, I've missed creature comforts. Shampoo, hot, clean water, shaving cream, sharp razors and a mirror bigger than my palm. Actually the mirror wasn't all that great or rather my reflection wan't. I look worn, my cheeks are hollow, my skin pale, splotchy and rough. There were scars I hadn't noticed before. A spray of whitish flecks on my neck. Shrapnel explosion? I couldn't remember. There was a jagged scar on my hand, old, hardened, I think it was caused by my weapon misfiring months ago. Again, I couldn't remember.

Perhaps most shocking of all were the gray hairs, there was a concentration of white and silver around my temples and streaks and strand ran through my hair elsewhere. I'm aging. I'm three days away from turning forty and it shows. On one hand, that's frightening, the passing of time always is. But on the other there a thrill after not having seen my face change for long. To see that I am indeed human. I'm real. I'm not an auton. I'm not plastic. After a 2000 year holding pattern, life has finally started.

Still, I hope Amy won't mind. I hope she won't think she's getting an old codger. Then again she does have a thing for older men doesn't she?

It's strange being in the flat on my own, eerily quiet except for the panting of Spartacus at my side. I imagine what it must feel like for Amy, walking these halls with just her own thoughts, missing me as much as I miss her.

I put on some night clothes and padded to the kitchen. The refrigerator was an oasis and I have to admit I essentially gorged myself, sitting there at the table, going through mountains of mail and tossing scraps to Spartacus.

A walk around the flat revealed not much had changed. A few new photos here and there, a new rug in the living room, a slight rearrangement of furniture. Her laptop was perched on the sofa next to a notebook and a few balls of wadded up paper. I'm glad she's still writing, I'm glad she's able to get along without me.

What really stuck out to me is that Amy hadn't purchased a Christmas tree. There were no decorations, nothing festive. I couldn't blame her. I was just lamenting how little I wanted to celebrate myself. That would have to be the first thing we took care of tomorrow. Tomorrow, what a lovely sounding word again, Doctor. For once, tomorrow didn't hold more walking or fighting or struggling or freezing. It promised the sweetest of all respites, laying in bed with Amy, waking up in her arms.

I'm exhausted, darling. It's about 10 AM and I think I'm going to finally try and get some sleep. The entire bed smell like Amy and I want nothing more right now than to sink into it. I can't wait to wake up and find her here.

Goodnight, Doctor.

Or rather, good morning.

Love,

Rory


	97. December 23, 1944 (Amy)

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

23rd of December 1944

Dear Doctor,

I have my husband back.

If only for a moment, if only for a few days. But I absolutely have him back right now.

In retrospect it all makes sense, but at the time I thought it was weird when Melody suggested we spend the day out. We're more homebodies, Doctor or at least I am and I'd much rather have an afternoon in with my daughter than go traipsing all over town. I suspected initially she was worried about me. You know with the holidays and all and truth be told that was exactly the reason I'd rather have stayed home. But I can't say no to my daughter, so I agreed to meet her for coffee so we could plan out the rest of our day.

Imagine my surprise when I walked up and saw her chatting with Sunny.

We all greeted each other and exchanged kisses and I seated myself and tugged off my mittens. It was fairly cold today and I was eager for some hot coffee.

Amy, you never told me your cousin Melody was so delightful. I haven't seen you, in what, a year?

Last Thanksgiving, yes. Melody answered with a smile. Ok, so she was my cousin, I could go with that.

And we didn't get to speak much.

No, I took ill which I admit put a bit of a damper on the celebration.

Amy, why didn't you tell me you were going away for the holiday, we had planned to have you over.

I paused. This was the first I'd heard of it, Doctor.

Um, I guess it slipped my mind.

Just a little trip to reconnect with family. Melody supplied giving me a look that said she'd explain later.

Well it sounds very nice and you deserve it. Will you be back in time for the new year?

I don't know Melody, will we? I asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

Most definitely, I'm fairly certain you'll be back in town by the evening of the 27th or at least the 28th.

I nodded. It was good to know that if I was going on a trip it was both ways.

We sipped our coffee and continued to chat. Melody as always was unphased by whatever time she wound up in. I couldn't imagine the extensive knowledge she must keep in that brain of hers, Doctor. She reminds me a lot of you. I'm just so proud of her. There she sat, talking to Sunny and more informed about the pop culture and movies and politics and history and gossip of the time than I was. I admit, lately I'd tuned out a little. The depression had started to overtake me again. i didn't leave the house as much, I hadn't been listening to the radio, I'd been struggling to get one coherent sentence on a page. I can just picture you frowning as you read this. I know, I haven't exactly mentioned it to you. I've been keeping secrets.

Melody operated smoothly and from coffee we slipped easily into shopping. She played the part of the generous relative and started buying things for the three of us. She understands money a lot better than you do, Doctor. Sunny protested but Melody insisted saying what was money for if you couldn't spend it on people? Besides it was Christmas. It's hard not to get into the spirit of things when my little girl is around and soon I found myself joining in on her fun.

At one point Sunny dashed off to the loo leaving Melody and I alone standing outside of Saks. I linked arms with her and whispered,

Going on a trip, are we?

Now, wherever would you get that idea? Honestly, mother sometimes I don't know what you're talking about.

You're planning something.

Not at all. Oh look, FAO Schwarz is just up the block, can we go in, please? Remember how we used to talk about it when we were kids? All we wanted to do was run about a toy store, preferably late at night after they shut.

Of course we can go, but Melody, listen to me. I'm just not in the mood for a celebration this year. I'd like you to come back home with me but honestly I'd rather just spend the 25th eating a turkey sandwich and trying to write a bit. No tree, no lights, no surprises, ok? Give your old Mum a break, eh?

She didn't promise anything but she didn't not promise either. We visited the toy store and picked up a few things for Sunny's kids and then went to Macy's and Gimbels and about a dozen other shops. We stopped by the tree in Rockefeller Center. It was huge and lush but due to wartime restrictions it wasn't lit. In fact no tree we passed for the entire day was lit up. I couldn't pry any further information out of my daughter, Doctor, so eventually I let it go. Who am I kidding, a good shop does sometimes help to clear the mind. I brought quite a few things to donate to the Salvation Army, toys and clothes and such. I was happy that we were able to make Sunny happy, she was beaming and after the year she'd had I knew she needed this, time out, time for herself. I put aside my own selfish feelings and decided to focus on giving my daughter and my friend a lovely day.

It was lovely but it was also long and by early evening, loaded down with bags I was ready to head back home. We put Sunny in a cab alone under the guise of having a train to catch. I kissed and hugged her goodbye, wished her a Happy Christmas and promised we'd get together again as soon as possible.

Finally alone, I turned to my daughter.

Ok, young lady, out with it, what's going on?

Going on? She said innocently. I'm taking us home. What say we go the quick route?

She grabbed my hand, the one that wasn't loaded down with bags and seconds later the vortex manipulator had returned us to our flat.

Figuring I wouldn't get an answer from her because Melody is Melody, I decided to just take this odd day for what it was.

Are you staying, love? I can fix us something to eat, we can watch Christmas Vacation on Netflix. Remember how much we liked that movie as kids?

I remember, Mum.

I removed my coat, hat and mittens shaking off the snow. Spartacus circled excitedly around our feet and I reached down to pet him.

I'll put the kettle on. We'll just settle in for the evening, yeah?

Actually, Mum I can't stay.

Oh. I tried to hide the disappointment in my voice but it wasn't easy. Of course, dear. I understand. But you will drop by for Christmas, won't you?

She hesitated.

I don't think so. You won't be needing me. Not this year.

I turned to her in surprise.

Won't be needing you? I always need you and I always want you. What are you going on about? If you have other plans, I suppose I understand, but I always need you.

I'm sorry, Mum. This is coming out a little wrong. Maybe we could talk about it in your bedroom.

In my bedroom? I'm half expecting some awful surprise party. Ok, we'll go to my bedroom. I'm going to change out of these clothes and into some pyjamas and you can explain why you're being so strange.

I put my arm around her and we started walking.

I remember coming down our hallway.

I remember entering my bedroom.

And I remember seeing Rory lying there, sleeping, as though it were the most normal thing in the world.

Great. I thought. Now, I'm hallucinating.

Everything started to swim before my eyes. I felt the ground rushing towards me...or actually I was rushing towards it.

Well...shit.

Those were the last two words I said and then I hit the floor.

I woke up to being kissed.

Amy? Amy, love?

Mmmm...I always do like this dream. I never know when I'm going to have it. When you're just going to appear but I'm always so happy when you do.

Yeah, me too. But can you wake up a bit and open your eyes?

Not on your life. If I wake up, you disappear.

I'm pretty sure I won't. Just look at me for one second.

Ok, but if you vanish, I'm going to be right ticked off.

I opened my eyes and as I focused, Rory came into view. My beautiful, beautiful, Rory.

See, still here. And then he smiled. There was that smile I'd been missing forever.

How can this be real?

It's real because our daughter is selfless and amazing.

It isn't possible. I reached out to touch his face, just to feel him.

For most people no, but not for Melody. One minute I was in the informary listening to the sound of gunfire and the next I saw her and we vanished into that flash of light. Then I was here. She brought me home to you for Christmas.

You're really here? I just couldn't quite believe it. I knew it sounded daft to keep repeating it over and over again but I'd had so many dreams where I thought this was true only to wake up alone.

I'm really here.

How long do I have you?

Three days, one afternoon and _four nights_.

I sat bolt right up on the bed and wrapped my arms around him and he did the same.

Right. Melody said suddenly appearing in our doorway. All better then? I managed to catch you before you hit your head on the floor.

And you, Miss. I knew you had something up your sleeve. I didn't think it would be this wonderful.

It's the least I could do. But are you ok?

Yeah, yeah I'm fine.

Good, then I'm off and I'll leave you in Dad's capable hands.

Wait, Melody, again with the leaving. You have to go so soon? We could have some family time together.

Mum, I think you both need some husband and wife time. She said with a grin.

Fair enough, that answers that question. But up next, why are you in a nurses uniform? It's really not helping me accept the idea that this isn't a dream.

It also seems a lot shorter than I remember. Rory said with a paternal furrowing of his brow.

She laughed merrily.

Yeah, I gave it a bit of an alteration. _I _ need some husband and wife time myself.

Sometimes, daughter, you do give us a bit too much information. Rory chided gently. You're lucky you're married because otherwise I'd never let you out of the house in that.

You're both ones to talk. She said and then turned her focus to me saying, As if I'm the only one in this family with a naughty nurses costume.

I blushed and laughed. When your daughter was also at one point her parents best mate, the dynamic is never going to be all that normal.

We don't know how to thank you for this, dear. I said to her and Rory nodded.

You don't have to thank me. Just don't waste a moment with one another. I scheduled a Christmas tree delivery for noon tomorrow. Christmas dinner is in the fridge. Neither of you have to lift a finger.

Come back for Christmas, please. Rory implored.

I'll do my best. Mum, Dad I love you. See you soon.

And then she was gone and Rory and I settled back into bed together.

I've missed you more than I ever thought possible. He said stroking my cheek with his thumb.

We kissed and kissed and kissed and then kissed a bit more only breaking apart for air.

Then a thought occurred to me.

Oi! Why were you in the infirmary?

Oh...um...I may have very _slightly _ been shot.

Rory!

In the calf! In the calf! He said holding up his hands defensively.

Why didn't you _tell _ me?

Well, because _this_. Because there's no reason to make you worry when you're already constantly at a 9.5 on the Worry-For-Rory Scale.

9.5 on a good day.

Point. I'm fine, really. In fact, had it not been for Melody, I probably would have been back on my feet and out there fighting tonight. Or rather tomorrow night. It was Christmas Eve slash very early Christmas morning when we left.

You swear you're alright?

I swear.

Ok, then, but no more secrets.

Alright but in that same vein, you've lost weight.

It was true and I bit my lip and glanced away from him.

Amy, look at me, please. It's not an accusation just an observation. You're obviously not doing all that well yourself.

I was for a while. And I hate to sound ungrateful, I mean we have so many advantages. I get to write to you every single night. I can look online and know what's coming. We know when the war is going to end not to mention you being zapped here tonight. It's just the last few months have been so stressful without you. I'm lonely and Bracey is really going through a tough time of his own. Sunny is having problems. I can't write, nothing comes out how I want it. Then with the hurricane and the earthquake-

I'm sorry, let me stop you right there. Hurricane and earthquake?

Did I neglect to mention that?

Yeah, yeah I think you did.

We have a slight earthquake in September and an even slighter hurricane a short time later.

Oh, well as long as it was just a slight one.

We both sighed at the same time.

We're not very good at this, are we? He asked.

Nope. We never have been. But then again, I think we're doing the best we can.

So we'll try to be more honest with each other? Shall we?

We could give it a shot.

Alright then. Honesty. And speaking honestly for a moment, I don't want to waste our time talking about how sad we are. I'm happy now.

Me too. By the way I really like your hair.

I laughed and gave him a gentle shove.

Melody told you to say that.

She didn't, I swear. The first time I saw it, I liked it.

What a few minutes ago?

No, she sent me a picture. Wrote me a lovely letter and included a picture of you while you were sleeping. I take it out and look at it every night. makes me feel like we're not so far from one another.

I didn't know she did that.

Yeah, not a bad girl we raised for being two kids ourselves.

Not bad at all. Rory?

Hmm?

I'm 40.

Yeah...I know. I'll be right there with you in a few days.

Do you think I'm still hot?

I think you are unbelievably hot. In fact, I've seen with my own eyes that you're going to maintain that hotness with no signs of slowing down heading into your 60's.

Yeah but she was running from her life battling handbots. I don't know that I'll have as many occasions to keep quite so shipshape.

Amy, you're beautiful. Remember what I told you. No...I guess that wasn't you. Not _this _ you at least. The only thing that would ever upset me is if we didn't get a chance to grow old together.

So you do think I'm old? I asked teasing him with a straight face.

No! Of course I don't I-...You're kidding.

We had been laying side by side and now he pulled me into his arms, flush against his body.

And you're not the only one who's a bit self conscious, you know. I didn't think I'd be coming back to you with all this gray.

I ran my hands through his hair and smiled. I had noticed. I'd noticed how much thinner he was, the dark circles under his eyes, the gray that peppered his blond. No matter what he was my luminous Rory.

I think you look very, very handsome and quite hot yourself, Mr. Pond.

Hot am I? He said with a devilish grin. He bridged his body over mine and I relished the feel of his weight above me. It had been so long and no fantasy was ever as sweet as reality. God, it had been so long.

It's been nine months. He said as though he were reading my thoughts. Nine months since I was with you. Since I kissed you. Since I held you. Since I tasted you.

Do you feel...up to it? I asked as his lips found my neck. Somehow, it seemed wrong to just assume a man who'd been off fighting the Second World War would just be ready at the drop of a hat.

He chuckled against my throat and I shivered and pulled him closer.

I don't think I can't recall the last time I've been more ready. I want to taste you, Amy.

We parted only briefly to shimmy out of our clothes and...well...

I'm not sure you want me to go into it, Doctor. A little propriety, Pond! I can almost hear you say. But I think I know you a bit too _intimately_ to buy that prudish act of yours.

In any case, let me tell you, for a man who has been in the trenches for months and presumably driven to exhaustion Rory shags like an energetic teenage boy. Forty-schmorty! As a matter of fact he's nibbling on my shoulder now, I think he wants to go again.

Guess I have to cut this short, Doctor.

Love across the stars,

Amy and Rory

**Wow...100,000+ words and so much left to go. This now, officially, the longest thing I've ever, ever written. I never quite imagined I'd make it this far. I also wish I'd been smart and printed it out as I went along. Now it's up to an absurd amount of pages and it would cost me an arm and a leg. I so want a hard copy to flip through and highlight and reference so I can keep track of what I've written. Oh well, live and learn, right?**


	98. December 26, 1944

_**In a weird way this chapter is as much for you guys as for Melody. I know a lot of you think this story is sad and angsty and it's true, it is. But I also believe it's lovely and happy and wonderful and in a way very, very ordinary. Because it's written from diaries and journals and correspondance the most emotional things the characters experience tend to wind up in those formats. The miscarriage, the war, the sacrifice the at times strained parent/child relationships, even the pain of missing an absent best friend and/or lover, that's all normal. Some of that is happening, right now either around us or to some of us right here in 2013. And maybe, hopefully, we don't think of our lives as relentlessly sad. As Amy tells the Doctor, "It's life. Just life. That thing that goes on when you're not there." So I guess I find Epistolary weighty, but not necesarrily all that relentlessly depressing. I hope you don't either. Yes, sometimes I do want to make you guys cry but I also really like making you smile, too. :)**_

_**What else...umm...in the preview for The Bells of St. John apparently you can see Clara reading a book by an Amelia Williams called Summer Fall. (Isn't that great! I'll always fall for a Pond reference!) I don't know what it's about but I figured I'd put it in anyways just in case.**_

* * *

**Supplemental: Archival Records **  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

26th of December 1944

Dear Doctor,

I'm just writing this on a spare piece of notebook paper that I'll add to my journal when I get back. Days in France drag on as did days outside the Pandorica but days with Amy, Doctor, these days have flown. I'm not the least bit embarrassed to say we've spent the rest of the 23rd and a good chunk of the 24th like newlyweds barely leaving our bedroom much less the bed. I must say I'm pleased that at 40, or at least a few hours away from being 40, everything is working precisely the way I expect it to, if you know what I mean. That's good since we're 54 years out from the creation of Viagra. Guess you don't really have to worry about that do you, mate? Am I talking too much about sex? You'll have to forgive me, but its been a nonstop shag-a-thon and I've rather excited about it.

We spent Christmas Eve decorating the tree and diving into the turkey dinner early. I think we both need to put on a bit of weight so the caloric bonanza will probably do us well. We took a long, hot bath together, Amy pulled securely between my legs her head resting on my chest, just enjoying the quirt of one another. I read through as many of her articles as she'd let me and she bounced a few ideas off me. She's an amazing writer, Doctor but at the moment she's torn between several ideas, her column, books about you and a completely separate idea for a novel she's tentatively titled Summer Falls. I'll let her tell you about that.

We slept in on Christmas and were awakened a little after eleven to the scent of Melody preparing breakfast. We padded into the kitchen and found her in the midst of bubbling pots and popping skillets.

Why didn't you wake us? I asked before giving our daughter a kiss on the cheek.

I peeked in and you were both fast asleep...

Melody paused then and suddenly looked troubled.

What is it, dear? Amy asked and hurried to her side to put her arm about her.

Nothing. She said forcing a smile. I just hope I'll always get to do this for you both. For years and years to come.

What, you mean like when we're old and gray pensioners slumping about on walkers? Hear that, Amy, her parents turn forty and she's ready to put us in an old peoples home or a grave.

I was joking but she didn't laugh.

That's not funny. That's not funny at all, Dad.

She pulled away from Amy and I instantly felt terrible. She had returned to the stove to poke at a skillet of scrambled eggs that didn't require poking. I strode over to my daughter quickly trying to beat Amy's You-Had-Better-Fix-What-You-Did look before she unleashed it and failing.

Melody, I'm sorry. Bad joke, really bad joke.

Yes, it was. She said quickly. I find your deaths a bit of a prickly subject, alright?

I understand. I said hugging her from behind. We know how badly you want to take care of us and you _have_, you _are_. Look at everything you've done. My God, what would we have done here without you? You've given us more than what we need and you keep on giving. I turned her around in my arms to get a good look at her face. You're feeling guilty, aren't you?

She angrily batted away a tear. There was not one incarnation of my daughter that I had known that ever felt all that comfortable crying.

Of course I feel guilty. It's my fault that you're even here.

I shared a bewildered glance with Amy who drew closer to flank Melody's side.

How do you figure that?

It's one of the reasons the Doctor can't travel alone. He gets distracted and it's always a distraction of the extremes. Either he's so worried he becomes overly cautious and misses what's right in front of him or he gets so emotional he forgets to be cautious. When you two came back to him, he was overcome. I've rarely seen him so open and...happy.

Tears started to burn my eyes a little then, Doctor, as I remember just how hard you embraced us for what would turn out to be the last time.

It was my job. She continued. My job to recognize that and realize he wasn't in the best frame of mind and keep a lookout. For Christ sake, what sense did it make to be buggering about in a graveyard talking about bloody repainting the bloody, buggering TARDIS. We should have gone inside, immediately. We should have left New York and never ever looked back.

I hugged her close to me.

Melody, that was years ago. Your mother and I went through this ourselves when we first arrived. But we agreed we would not build our lives on a foundation of Should-Haves and Might-Have-Beens and I won't have you doing it either.

I pulled back and bent my knees so I could make direct eye contact with her.

This is not anyone's fault, least of all yours. This is just...life. And you know what, it's not exceptionally sad or awful. I am so incredibly grateful and lucky. I'm with my wife. Amy or I could have been sent to God knows where, separated by oceans of time. But though...I hesitate to even say it, perhaps we're together because of the mercy of an Angel.

I've always looked at it that way. Amy said. I offered myself as a willing sacrifice and it took pity on us.

They don't work that way! There was no pity! No mercy! Don't ascribe emotions to something so parenthetically evil. It was a cycle, Dad. That's all.

Maybe, but that's not how we choose to look at it.

I lead her over to the kitchen table and sat her down before Amy and I pulled up next to her.

Melody, your Mum and I consider ourselves very, very lucky. Yes, times have been hard, the war, being separated, losing Adora. We have made memories here that we cherish. We've created a life here and a damn good one.

Damn good. Amy echoed.

And no one should be sorry for that. It's not what we planned, but I have my wife, my daughter, my health. And I'll be back home before you know it.

She glanced at us both with shining eyes.

But I could have stopped it. She insisted.

We know you think that. Amy said quietly.

You _don't_ know. She said with a shake of her curls.

Of course we do. I insisted. When you came to see me off...oh, you were so very, very young. You didn't know why I was here, you didn't understand.

Amy nodded.

Your Dad and I talked about it. If you didn't know then that could only mean Manhattan hadn't happened for you yet. But you knew something was coming. Something that would irrevocably separate us from the Doctor. But since you didn't know when or where or how there was nothing you could have done. And even if you could, as the Doctor said, as _you _ said, it might have torn New York apart. We couldn't be responsible for that. You did help us. You helped the Doctor let me go. We're ok. Yeah, life is hard and scary but it was hard in London 74 years from now. But it's also happy and funny and exciting and filled with so much promise. All I know is that in the future your Dad and I nearly got divorced and now we're stronger than we've ever been and I've got a wedding to plan for and a baby to adopt all waiting for me in the near future.

Damn him. Melody swore. Damn him for what amounts to clinging to a bunch of cultural non sequiturs. There is no more Gallifrey. There's no laws to preserve, no courts. No one is keeping score. There are no Timelords left!

There's you. I said softly. I took her hand and raised it to my lips to kiss her knuckles. There is still one glorious Timelady left. I know he does it for him, he does it because it's the right thing to do. He does it to keep some small flame of his home and his birth burning inside him. He does it as an example to us. But I think he also does it for you, Melody. To show you...no that's not the proper word. To _remind _ you that there is a right and a wrong and sometimes there's a terrible price to be paid for both of them. But when you make the right choice, if you take the long view, it's worth it.

She looked at me hopefully and I was glad to see our words had gotten through all that anger and guilt.

He would do anything for you, Melody, I hope you know that.

She nodded.

I couldn't wish for my daughter to be with a better man. So, no more bearing this cross, alright. Just set it down.

She nodded again and I kissed her atop the head.

Alright, so should we start Christmas?

Both of my girls answered enthusiastically and we dug into the breakfast Melody had made.

The rest of the day was low key, we didn't have any gifts to exchange, all of us agreed we'd gotten our best presents by just being together. We sat near the tree, we ate...a lot actually and we just talked. God, how I've missed just talking about nothing about everything. A lot of the time I just listened, holding one or both of my girls to me. Christmas night I drove them around and we looked at the lights, people had put up as decoration. Just like last year, Melody left us a little after midnight after wishing me a Happy Birthday.

Amy and I have one more day and two more night together. It's not enough, of course, but I'm going to do my best to try and make it enough for both of us.

We're going to bed now, love. Yes, _back _ to bed. You know, had the three of us made a go of it, I think we might have worn you out. Cheeky yes, but it's my birthday and I'm really happy. I deserve to be a bit cheeky.

Wish me a Happy 40th and Happy Christmas, Doctor.

I hope it was a good one for you as well.

Love,

Rory

P.S. It's a few hours later and I'm sitting in our kitchen. I got hungry so I decided on a late night clandestine fridge raid. it got me thinking about all the evening talks we used to have on the TARDIS. I just wanted to tell you, especially at times like this, you are keenly missed and infinitely loved. Do I say that too much? _ Can_ one say that too much? I don't think so.

I wish you were here, my friend. I miss you. Without you, our family will always be incomplete.

We love you,

-Rory

**I'm thinking of doing a jump-ahead. I'm not sure when or how many years but I do think that taking this year by year would be difficult if not impossible to maintain. Don't worry I'm not going to skip ahead to like the 60's! I've just been toying with the idea. But I need to bring Rory home first...then we'll see.**

**I also need to brush up on some of the more major dramatic events of the 1950's. You know things that our heroes could be involved in. WW2 was just so damn convenient, so all encompassing but the next few decades are going to require some shifts on my part. It can't all be about doctorin', writin' and child rearin'.**


	99. December 27, 1944

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

27 of December, 1944

Dear Doctor,

Rory and I have had our fair share of goodbyes. This one, at least, didn't take us by surprise. I didn't want to waste my last few hours with him by sleeping and neither did he. We just lay in bed and talked for awhile and I tried to weld the feeling of his arms around me and his voice in my ear to my memory.

I don't know how I feel about raising a child in the city. He said suddenly.

What other option do we have?

There are some small neighborhoods. Here and there. In our old time they were mostly gone but Manhattan as a whole isn't quite so urban yet. We could get a little house with a garden and a yard. He kissed my temple and I smiled and snuggled closer. I want our child to have some place to romp and play and run and shout, just like we did. I want them to make friends and get into trouble.

And go to the park. And trick-or-treat. I want to give them an amazing life.

Me too. And I don't think we'll have any problems adopting either. I know you've been worrying about that.

He was right, of course. I had.

I hope you're right.

I know I'm right. I'm a veteran and a doctor. You're a successful writer.

Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I chuckled.

We're wealthy, we're established. They'll be throwing babies at us. He joked.

I wasn't so sure but I did take comfort from his words.

I hope you're right. But I won't feel it's real until we actually have him or her. Any preference?

None at all, love. You?

I don't think so. No, I _know _ so. It doesn't matter to me in the slightest. But what shall we tell them, about us? About who we are? Who we were?

He sighed deeply and looked contemplative for a moment.

I've thought about that and I believe we should tell them the truth. When they're old enough to understand of course. I don't want to hide our lives from our son or daughter.

Me neither.

I won't let the Doctor become someone we whisper about or worse yet someone we don't talk about at all. I don't think we could hide it anyways. Not with Melody popping in and out via futuristic transport. Not to mention, I'm pretty proud of us. We're the subject of some pretty good stories ourselves.

He's right of course. The three of us made some pretty good stories didn't we, Doctor? You always said we're all just stories in the end.

We made love once more and when we were done I held his head against my chest, and he kissed my breasts as I stroked his hair.

I'm going to miss you, birthday boy. I'm going to miss this.

Me too. He said softly and I felt a few errant tears hit my skin. And I realized, Doctor, it was my turn to comfort him as he always did me.

Hey, Mr. Pond, it won't be long now, ok. A few more months. That's all and then we'll be back together, the way we're meant to be. Amy and Rory. We've got a wedding to plan, a lot of adoption forms to fill out and apparently a move. We have our whole lives ahead of us.

He nodded and sniffled and I kissed the crown of his head.

You just stay safe, ok. Just stay safe, try to minimize the heroics and come back to me. Please, Rory, promise me you'll come back to me.

He turned his head to look up at me, his eyes red rimmed and wet.

I promise, Amy. I will always come back to you.

I gave him my best teary smile

The sound of Melody's arrival in the other room was unmistakable, the crackle of the vortex manipulator meant our time was up.

Mum? Dad? She said called out tentatively before knocking on the door. I'm afraid it's time.

We'll be out in a second, love. Ok? He called.

Of course. I'm just going to pack some things up for you.

We heard her move away from the door and I felt the heavy weariness seep back into my husbands body.

I expected the next words he said to be sad and resigned but he surprised me.

Amy, this did me so much good.

That was my Rory, ever grateful, always teaching me lessons of gratitude.

Me too. I feel like we can do this. I feel like we can make it.

Me too.

He smiled and kissed me before rising from the bed. I sat up and swung my legs over the edge as I watched him get dressed. We couldn't clean his uniform because it wouldn't make sense to have him arrive back in France pristine and new. He put on just as it was when he stepped out of it, stiff and caked with mud.

He really did look better than when he'd first arrive. His skin wasn't as pale, the circles were gone from under his eyes. He may have even gained a little weight. I stood up and put on my dressing gown and gave him a hug.

Amy, I'm filthy. He said embracing me all the same.

Don't care.

I'll write everyday just like before. Nothing changes.

Nothing changes.

I love you, Amy. I love you. I love you. I love you.

He held me tightly, fiercely, squeezing me so hard I couldn't breathe and I didn't care. I didn't need to breathe in Rory's arms.

The rest happened pretty quickly. We left the bedroom, greeted Melody and said our last goodbye.

I'll write to you as soon as I get back. I mean in a way I already have. I'm going back on the 25th, so everything I will write you I already have. It's in the bedside drawer or it will be. He concluded with a teary chuckle. Life of a married time travelling couple, eh?

Wouldn't trade it for the world.

He kissed me once more and then Melody took his hand.

I will see you on Tuesday, Amy.

Happy Birthday, Rory. See you on Tuesday.

And then they were gone.

It's quite a few hours later now. He made it back safely, we've already been writing to each other. He's back in the fray and I've had myself a good long cry, laying in the bed sheets that still smell of him, of us together.

Just a few more days Doctor and it'll be 1945. A brand new year. Another chance, the end of the war on the horizon and the start of a quiet life for the Pond-Williams'.

Then again, knowing us, probably not too quiet.

We love you Doctor. Happy New Year.

Love across the stars,

Your Amy

**Just watched The Bells of St John. Pretty exciting stuff, eh? Did you see the book Summer Falls by Amelia Williams with the plucky girl on the cover and two boys bringing up the rear, one blonde and one brunette? Hmm, I wonder who they represent? And what do you know, the Doctor was a monk too in 1207. There goes Moffat, stealing my ideas! *shakes fist in general direction of the UK* ;) I may just have to write that in. We'll see. Ok, hope you enjoyed this, They'll probably be a mini-jump ahead of a few months in the next chapter.**


	100. January 19, 1945

_**A/N For security purposes and because of the desire to remain anonymous, Winston Churchill often traveled under the name Colonel Walden. Amy writes this letter in January knowing that the secret Yalta Conference, between Churchill, Stalin and Roosevelt was to take place February 4-11 near Yalta in Crimea which is in the Ukraine.**_

* * *

_**This is a short little chapter where I just try and get my mind back into the swing of things...I've been away so long.**_

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Personal Correspondence ****Mrs. Amelia Pond Williams to **Sir Winston S. Churchill 

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

**19th of January 1945**

Dear "Colonel Walden",

How goes the day my friend? I haven't heard from you in quite a long while and though I know you're obviously one of the busiest men on the planet at the moment I thought you could do with a letter that's purely light hearted in nature.

First things first, I'm well. Safe and as happy as can be expected here in Manhattan. Rory came home for Christmas which was a wonderful and unexpected blessing. I told him I loved him, spent a few glorious days with him, fed him and then sent him back to the front. He spends endless bloody days and nights by the Rhine and I expect by March he'll be entering Germany.

Thank you for your help with Torchwood. I cannot express to you how much your attention in that matter helped my little family. One day I'll tell you about it, that is when I understand it all.

Rory and I are renewing our vows when the war ends. You should attend. How delightfully absurd would that be? You explaining to your staff that you have to fly to Manhattan for the wedding of two people they've never heard you mention. Rory and I explaining to our friends that we've known the Prime Minister this entire time but just never got around to mentioning it.

In any case we feel it's time to start a new life. When he gets home we're adopting a child and we're moving as far from the city as circumstance will allow. Lot's of big changes on the horizon, changes that I'm sincerely looking forward to.

I have to be so careful not to give you dates! I know you're scanning this line by line, word by word for something I may have accidentally included. But I'm clever, Churchill, the Doctor taught me that. You won't find a thing!

Take care of yourself, alright? I know about the heart attack in '41. I know about the pneumonia in '43. Just take a nap every now and then, have a bite of fruit or a glass of water, for crying out loud.

Yeah, I'm taking the piss because no one else has the balls to do it to you and because I care about you, mate, a great deal.

Well, I've got to run. Yeah, I'm telling the Prime Minister of Great Britain that I'm too busy to keep yammering on in a letter to him! But I do have to go. If you have a spare moment, (and I realize the notion of that is absurd) write back to your Paisley friend. If not, just know you're in my thoughts.

When this is all over Winston, you, me, Rory and Bracewell are going to get together, have some brandy and cigars, get absolutely pissed and tell really filthy stories. That gave you a chuckle, didn't it? But I mean it. I'd like to see you outside of a bunker one of these days.

If you, for some reason happen to see the Doctor and I mean _any_ Doctor, it doesn't have to be mine, just tell him...Hello. That's all, any more I suppose might be too dangerous, so just say we said, Hello.

Best of luck, KBO and, oh dress warm, the Ukraine is cold this time of year.

Yours always,

Amy Pond-Williams

**OK, put down your torches and pitchforks I know, where the hell have I been?! It's been well over a month! Just who do I think I am to leave you hanging like this? :)**

**Well, life got complicated and sucky and hard. It kind of still is. Not to mention, honestly I got a little stuck in terms of what to do next. But at least one thing has let up. The school semester is almost over, I'm nearing the end of finals week and I can finally write a little for pleasure as opposed to grades. ...until summer semester starts! So what can I say, I'm so sorry for having been away and I really missed this story and you guys and I hope to possibly get a nice, steady writing rhythm going again.**

**Switching gears. 100 Chapters! Holy shit! I've written 100 Chapters and some of them are actually ok! I never quite thought I'd make it here but I am so glad I did. Thanks for sticking with me. Thanks for reading and reviewing. Thanks for waiting. Thanks to all the new people who have come aboard with their favs and follows.**

**(At least one of you said you saw my story mentioned on Tumblr? _Really_, that so cool! I've never seen it mentioned on Tumblr. I'm vain! Give me a link!) **

**Here's to at least 100 more. I feel like I deserve some sort of ice cream cake for a triumph of this magnitude.**


	101. February 19th, 1945

**_I kept trying to write this from Bracey's point of view but it just didn't jive so I'm just doing Amy's response. There was a sudden and frightening fire at the Los Alamos facility and they were afraid for awhile it might light up the plutonium and I assume essentially destroy the whole state of New Mexico. Klaus Fuchs was a German physicist and atomic spy. As I've mentioned before overall conditions at Los Alamos were dismal and we're a mere five months from the dropping of the bomb on Nagasaki._**

* * *

19th of February, 1945

My Dearest Bracey,

I'm happy to hear that Dorabella has finally joined you and that you're enjoying the paper I sent.. But I'm sorry to hear that's where you good news seems to be frank, your working conditions sound aqtrocious. The housing the hours, the fire you mentioned sounds incredibly dangerous. How long after the evacuation were you able to return?

I hesitate to even say this and while I'm glad you've made friends, please, stay away from Fuchs. Give him a wide berth. Don't ask why. Just trust me.

I hear the worry and concern in your words, my friend. All I can tell you without delving into specifics is that soon this will all be over. I promise you that. And after that wonderful day, everyone will be coming home.

Let me take you on a dalliance, Bracey. Let's think about the future. What will you do when the war does end? Will you return to Chalk River? Will you stay in Los Alamos. Will you go back to England or perhaps all the way back home to Scotland? I envy you a little, my friend. My world will never grow larger than Manhattan.

No. That's not true. Rory is my world and he is boundaryless.

Well, if you do leave, you can't go before standing at my wedding. Again, perhaps to give you something to look forward to, I was hoping you might give me away. Rory and I are going to renew our wedding vows as soon as he gets home. In addition to that, we're going to adopt!

We're planning the rest of our lives, Edwin. Please remember and take joy in the knowledge that you have to do the same.

Give my best to Dorabella. No matter how stressed or upset you get, remember to be kind to her. She loves you more than anything.

I miss you and I hope to see you very soon.

Love,

Your Amy

**Actually buckling down and writing my thesis intro is way more daunting than I assumed it would be. So. Much. Reading. So I'm so sorry for neglecting this and for such a short chapter. But I'm here, I'm alive and the story continues, albeit slowly. **


	102. April 16th, 1945

**I can't think of the last time I posted two chapters in 1 day...! It feels good! Ok, I was missing some good old fashion Rory reminiscing, I've again had a little bit of writers block and as I'm actually having to start producing something with regards to me thesis my time to work on this has been limited. However, today while I was supposed to be working on it, I wrote this 4000 word chapter instead. A few story notes, adoption was very common for wealthy families in Rome, sometimes families that had too many kids would sell a few and families that had no heirs would buy them. This mostly involved boys though a couple of girls were adopted too. Successful Roman soldiers were often given land as thanks for their service. Ummm, I think that's it. Allons-y**

* * *

**Supplemental: Archival Records **  
**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**  
**Frequency: Intermittent**  
**Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

16th of April 1945

Dear Doctor,

I hadn't thought it possible but my heart longs to see Rome again. Sometimes I find myself wishing I was involved in the Italian campaign so that I could visit, at least in some way, the place I called home for so many years. In truth I never liked the city. I returned there and lived there when duty called me to business. But if I wasn't on the battlefield I much preferred to stay on my farm. Yes, I had a farm. Well, more than a farm actually by the time all was said and done I was graced with a _latifundium_, as estate that encompassed over several hundred acres. But I only used a small portion of it to grow spelt, a tiny vineyard and an olive orchard. Anymore would have required the use of slave labor and I refused to do that. I was given acres upon acres of land as thanks for my service and that land was passed down through my "family" for generation upon generation. I had a few cows, sheep, goats and horses. When I think of how disappointed my father was that I didn't carry a trowel all I can do is laugh. How completely shocked he would have been to see me tending to the soil, knowing the planting seasons and making the world around me flourish and grow.

As much as I could, I loved my home. I had a secure place to hide the Pandorica and I would spend my evenings in the fields, drinking my own wine, watching the sunset and talking to you and Amy as if you were right there next to me. I was alone but I wasn't lonely. I would curl up with memories beneath a tree that even then, by my estimates was several thousand years old. Older than you and I combined Doctor. But for awhile it was _my _ tree, a strong, gnarled olive tree and I would sit beneath it and in that incredible silence I was safe.

I'm going to tell you something now Doctor that you must never tell Amy. Not because I think she would be angry but because I have laid enough of my sorrow at the doorstep of her heart, so let's just keep this between you and me, eh? I could say my mind has been on it recently as Amy and I write to one another about adoption but the truth is it's always close to my thoughts.

I had a son once. A strong and smart boy named Vitus. I'm not changing my story, I have never taken another woman to bed except for Amy and I never will.

A friend of mine, Parthus with whom I had fought along side during two wars had settled in his retirement in Rome. He sent word to me one day that he wanted to see me and reminisce and made the trek to the city to see him. His estate was as lavish and ornate as I recalled him being and the food and wine he provided for my visit was a bit ridiculous in its abundance. He introduced me to his family, his wife and children and as they exited I thought it would just be the two of us to rehash old battle scars. But he put his hand on the shoulder of his youngest son, Vitus, a quiet, towheaded boy who was all of four.

Fine boy isn't he?

Yes, Parthus, absolutely.

So...will you take him?

Beg pardon.

My friend, I have overestimated my wealth. I have daughters to provide for, three as a matter of fact each that must have a dowry and two sons after that, the first will inherit my estate and hopefully not my debt the second one will have his place in the senate but this one.

He touched Vitus' shoulder and the boy looked at him eyes wide and innocent. Clearly he had no idea what we were discussing and I was grateful for that. But still, I didn't want him to hear this no one should have to hear themselves being bartered over.

You're offering me your son?

It is a common enough practice.

Parthus, my life has no room in it for children.

Nonsense, it's long past time for you to settle down.

This is very unexpected...

And truly it was, I was at a loss for words. Adoption was common enough in Rome for status and such but I had never expressed interest, never wanted to ever be involved. But no mater what I wanted I never was able to quite achieve that quiet life.

What happens if I refuse?

Why should you refuse, you spend your days by yourself on your farm, you need company. And if you refuse to take a wife, a son will serve you well. Who else will you pass all that land and title on to after you die.

But what happens to him if I say no? I pressed.

My friend shrugged.

Then he goes to the orphanage. Don't look at me like that you sentimental fool. What would you have me do? I cannot take care of him.

I caught Vitus eyes and he immediately brightened before smiling at me. I couldn't help but smile back.

If you're having problems with money-

This isn't about money!

Of course I knew it was precisely about that. But he cut me off and I saw I had come dangerously close to offending him. Perhaps dangerous is the improper word. I held a higher status in society than he, there was nothing he could do in fact so cause me any discomfort or harm. If I wished, I could stand from this table, thank him for the meal and walk away.

But then what of Vitus? I knew what the orphanages were like, disgusting cold, bereft of comfort or joy. It was a crime to send children there. I had only met this boy briefly, only seen him playing outside with his siblings as I entered but I just couldn't...I couldn't let this happen.

And so...I made a decision.

I will take him.

We left within the hour. He said goodbye to his mother, his father, his brothers and sisters, I placed his little bag on my shoulder and we set off. I paid his father handsomely, first as a tribute to Vitus, then out of respect for our friendship which, after this, had ended. I understood tradition but I couldn't bear to associate with someone who would sell their own child. I bid him farewell for a final time and Vitus and I began our trek back to my farm. My mind was racing now...what had I done? What would I do with a small child? What if I was called away again for battle? Who would care for him? Wasn't my first duty to Amy?

Are you my Papa now?

His voice was small and soft and I chastised myself for having walked so far with him in silence.

Yes, Vitus, I suppose I am.

He seemed to consider that before nodding and reaching up for my hand. I took his smaller one in my own and gave it a light squeeze.

I promise you, I will take care of you little one. On my honor you will always be safe.

He smiled at me and we walked on in silence. The sun was setting and it lit up the fields in front of us transforming the waving wheat into an unearthly sort of beauty. As the darkness grew around us I gathered him into my arms and eventually he fell asleep upon my shoulder. I didn't have a bed for him so I just bundled him next to me.

I'm not a natural father, Doctor. I'm awkward and clumsy and I had so many things to learn. I was awakened in the night by him crying softly next to me. Of course he was upset, of course he was sad, his entire life was in upheaval. I felt terrible. I held him as he cried and did my best to comfort him but over the next few days he lapsed into silence. I tried to make conversation as we ate, I took him around the farm, we visited and petted the animals but he wouldn't speak. This went on for weeks. He was so little and yet I was the one who felt helpless. I built him a bed and he handed me tools. He set the table for supper. I sang him songs and made up a few games for us to play. And though I saw his walls slowly begin to drop as the weeks went into months he still refused to speak. I never stopped encouraging him, never stopped trying to engage him but eventually even I became use to the silence. Though I'd built him a bed he would still usually crawl into mine, sometimes propelled by a nightmare that he wouldn't explain, sometimes just because I imagined he was lonely and frightened and...four. I told him stories, I took him to the ancient tree, I told him jokes and I carried him about on my shoulders. I just wanted to let him know I wasn't going anywhere, that I wouldn't sell him and that I would be his father if he'd have me.

The day he actually smiled I felt my heart sing. The day he laughed I laughed heartily along with him. The day he finally spoke after a full three months of silence I felt as though I could conquer the world.

I like it here, Papa. He said softly.

I was stunned but I knew I had to answer him immediately.

Do you? I'm glad, I like it here too and I love having you here with me...son.

Can we go milk my cow now?

Of course we can.

From then on there was a new normal. I had a son and as he grew we grew to know each other. He was quiet, smart, impossibly clever and dryly funny. And after awhile I began to forget that he wasn't properly mine and I think he began to forget too.

Papa, what is that box in the barn?

I had expected this day of course. Every time we went into to tend the animals he looked at it but it had taken him three years to work up the courage to ask me.

That box is my ward, just as you are my ward. I care and love you both with all my heart.

What is inside?

Something very precious.

It didn't take me long at all to love him and I did so fiercely and completely and after he'd gone to bed I spent many an evening talking to Amy, telling him what we'd done during the day, what Vitus had learned and what we had planned for tomorrow. I was happy, Doctor. If you can believe it, I was happy.

The years passed and he aged as I did not. I struggled with what to tell him. I honestly didn't have any idea. It had never come up before. Before, I could always disappear, or fabricate some sort of lie but I couldn't disappear from my son and I wouldn't lie to him. We rarely ventured to the city but as he grew people began to assume we were brothers.

The winter that he turned sixteen he broached the subject.

Papa, forgive me...but you look the same.

I played dumb, knowing the moment had arrived and still without the answer he deserved.

The same?

Your face is unlined, your eyes undimmed I have never seen one battle scar on your skin.

I could see him struggling, I had raised him without the superstitions of the gods so he was unlikely to proclaim me a deity of some sort.

Vitus, what I am, I can't exactly explain. But...I will never age. I will never grow old even though I am so very, very old. But all that matters is that I love you, more than anything I love you, my son.

He nodded as he always did, as he always had, digesting what I told him, ready to accept or reject. Ultimately he chose to accept it.

I love you too, Papa.

I sent him to school but took care of most of his education at home. I did my best not to besmirch Rome even though I loved our quiet life here. I made sure to tell him that as my son he was due a certain amout of honor and respect. He had a degree of status and a substantial amount of money available to him. If he wanted a life in the city, one of influence and wealth and power it was his.

But he always shrugged off the notion.

My life is here, Papa. The city holds no interest for me. This is my home, here with you.

I think something holds some interest for you. I teased him. When we were last at market you couldn't keep your eyes off Maletus' daughter.

He blushed and I knew I'd been right. He seemed so young, too young in my opinion to be thinking of marriage but this was a different time, certainly different from the time I grew up in. I asked him to wait before he made any rash decision and he listened for awhile, for as long as he could.

But sooner rather than later he took Cordelia, Maletus' daughter, a wonderful spirited girl for his wife and we all lived and worked on the farm together. The summer after they wed I had a granddaughter and not long after that a grandson. Rome spread and sprawled and our nearest neighbor was someone we might not see for years at a time. I felt safe with all of us living there, our secrets shielded in that easy pastoral bliss.

My lack of aging didn't disturb Cordelia, she was from the country and had never even been to Rome proper. As such she had no qualms about telling me she assumed I was one of the faerie folk. Neither god nor mortal but something decidedly in between. To her that explained everything and Vitus and I were content to let her believe as she wished.

On our trips to the city things changed again, they began to think he was my older brother, seasons passed and then they assumed he was my father. Vitus handled this with aplomb, cool and collected when he called me Pater or Patris or Abba in public people assumed it was a silly joke between us.

I was called again to war when he was in his forties, a life I had made certain to keep him as far away from as possible. It was a lengthy campaign and by the time I returned I had three more grand children and my son was nearing his mid fifties.

I had made certain to keep his name on the lips of those in senate, he was afterall the son of a war hero, he had status and a seat waiting for him in the senate if he chose.

I sat with him one evening, a grandchild on each knee, beneath our tree watching the sunset as his older sons and daughters laughed and played in the fields.

Rome is alway waiting for you, you know. I feel guilty, keeping you out here isolated in the country. You have a name and a fortune there. You need but grasp it.

Rome has waited, father and will continue to do so. This is my home, with you and 'Lia. I never wanted to be a politician.

He stretched out and closed his eyes and I tried not to notice the lines on his face and about his eyes.

As if he could read my thoughts he spoke to me.

You have to promise me, father, promise me you won't travel alone after I'm gone.

How those words echo about us, Doctor, you and I. Do you see now? Do you see why I could be so adamant, so forceful almost to the point of being rude with you? Because I have done it. I have lived it, a thousand times before. When you were crawling about on Gallifrey in nappies I had already lost so much. Please, my love, hear me, learn from me.

I didn't say anything to my son at that moment, I couldn't.

Father? He said, opening his eyes.

Please don't talk like that.

He chuckled.

A warning about pragmatism from the man who taught me the meaning of the word. I'm going to die one day and you told me when I was small about all those years you spent travelling alone. You mustn't do that again. Promise me.

I can't promise you that and I don't want to talk about your death. I can't bear it.

He nodded and took a small sleeping boy from my lap.

Then just promise me this. That you'll scatter my ashes here, under our tree, so that I'll always be home.

I tried to choke back tears but they came anyway and I turned my face away from him at the same time dragging him close.

I promise.

The woman in the box...

I sniffled and blinked in surprise but didn't pull out of my embrace with him.

How did you know it was a woman?

He only smiled at me and continued.

The woman in the box, was she...my mother?

I swallowed and I imagined Amy rocking him to sleep, running with him, whooping and laughing at dusk, weeping at his wedding. Memories that never were and never would be.

What do you remember from when you were little?

He turned to me and met my eyes and I saw he had made his choice long ago. We all choose what to remember and what to forget.

I remember you, Papa, only you.

I paused for a moment and then decided to answer him.

In a way, yes, she would have been. Yes, I think so. She is my wife so she would have been your mother.

That's why you never took a wife. You were always already married. He said softly. Vitus nodded, satisfied as always. How he pieced my stories together in his head I never knew but he never seemed troubled. It was always enough and more than that, it was always a comfort.

I don't...I can't say anymore about that. We lived together for many years following that conversation but when I think of my son I always think back to that evening. The rosy hue of the sun as it bathed us both in soft light, the feeling of my grandson and granddaughter sleeping against me, Vitus in my arms.

I kept my word. When he died the seven of us, 'Lia, myself, Benedict, Atticus, Coryn, Felix, and Jovan. 'Lia and I sang a song, his oldest son gave the laudatio funebris. And finally I set his body atop the pyre and lit it ablaze.

I can't say any more about that.

I mourned my son for years and in my dreams he was always that little boy who's walked with me hand in hand back to his new home, through fields of wheat taller than he was. He was my brave little boy.

I took care of Cordelia, tending to my elderly daughter in law, keeping her comfortable and entertained. She loved to hear stories about Vitus and about my travels over the years.

Do the faerie folk ever die, Papa?

I don't know 'Lia. I imagine eventually we all die. But we have lived, that's what's important. You and I...and Vitus have all lived and lived well.

That answer seemed to satisfy her and I sat at her bedside and held her hand as she slipped from this world into whatever lies beyond.

I loved her too and she rests next to my son beneath that olive tree.

It was about this time that I supposed I realized it might be best if I moved on. Best for my grandchildren and great grandchildren and best for myself. I loved them dearly. I loved them in a way that it almost frightens me to love again. But they were smart and strong and capable. I had told them as best I could that nothing lasts, they must prepare for the end of all things, even the end of this way of life.

Remember children, Rome will fall. Perhaps not in your life or your childrens lives or their childrens lives but it will fall. Everything is transitory and you must prepare and guard and keep a weather eye. They would nod and listen

The decision to leave came upon me gradually. When it was just us, a small family subsisting on our own, not on anyones radar things were fine. But the grandchildren were growing, some already in adulthood, they would marry and our family would expand there would be questions and more questions and my being there only made life harder. It was time for Amy and I to leave them to their future even though it would break my heart. On the evening of my grandsons wedding I took him aside, trying to impart what little wisdom I had collected.

Hold to the farm as long as you can but listen to me, should you lose it, you lose it. Family is what is important. You brothers, your sisters, your wife and the children to come.

And you, Avus. You're important.

He paused before continuing.

You're leaving us, aren't you?

He looked so much like Vitus in that moment and I couldn't lie to him. To anyone watching he probably looked like my sibling.

I am.

Papa told me you would some day.

Your father was very smart and so are you.

Do you think you'll ever come back?

Leaning forward I kissed his forehead in blessing and benediction. I didn't have the heart to speak the word no.

He pressed his lips together tightly and I saw the tears start to well.

You will be fine. The farm and land belongs to you and you brothers and sisters, I trust you to parcel it out as you see fit. There is money enough for you all to live happily for generation upon generation to come. Be good to each other and remember how much your parents loved you.

We will remember you too Avus, always.

He threw his arms around me and I hugged him tightly knowing it would be the last time.

I spent the evening writing each of them letters, reminding them of their strengths gently chiding them about some of their weaknesses and encouraging them all to be the best I knew they could be. Most importantly I told them how much I loved them all. How it had made my life a full one to see them born, to watch them grow and how I would carry them with me in my heart for now and for always. And I have. When I close my eyes I can still see each and everyone of their faces.

Once when Amy and I visited the British Museum I saw one of my letters. **Ancient Roman Correspondance: A Letter of Advice Written from a Father to a Daughter**. Ok so they had gotten it a bit wrong but that was alright. God knows where it had been unearthed but there it was, my handwriting and as I started to reread it through that glass I suddenly burst into tears. Amy put her arm around me and lovingly hustled us off to the loo. She walked right into the gents with me! You know Amy. She could tell I didn't want to talk about it and I couldn't, I just..._couldn't_.

Before I left the farm I paid a last visit to the tree as I said farewell to my son. I don't have to recount that for you, do I, Doctor? You've bid farewell to lost children. You know the words. You know the ache. You the tears.

I parted from them at dawn, and as they slept I pulled the Pandorica behind me heading towards the rising sun.

I never went back though I did keep tabs on them all. They lived and they flourished there for hundreds upon hundreds of years. Eventually the spread out and dispersed and it became harder and harder to find out what happened, where they went, where they settled. But every so often, defying logic, genetics and common sense I would see a face in a crowd, an impossible face, 900 AD France, 1548 in Germany, 1880 Britain and I would know. I would just know that was my kin. I would know that some how if you traced back the line would end with Vitus and me.

All this comes up I suppose as I recall pleasant memories to stave off the loneliness of the war as it far too slowly winds down.

I miss my babies, Doctor, Vitus, my grandchildren, Adora, even Melody. My grip on her is never as strong as I would like it to be.

I suppose that's all for now. I miss you my friend. Thank you for letting me blather on as I do.

If you do a search on the internet for the worlds oldest trees it brings up a particular wild olive tree just outside of Rome on a field where an ancient farm lies in ruins. It's gnarled and is estimated to be nearly 4000 years old, it's roots run deep and they say if you touch it you can feel the hum of the universe. It has seen things you and I couldn't even imagine.

It grows and it flowers and it stands.

It still stands.

I love you, Doctor,

Love, Rory


	103. April 19, 1945

_**So, I have purposefully missed all of Doctor Who this season except for "The Bells of Saint John". I intend to marathon them all at some point, perhaps before the 50th. However I have seen gifs from the last episode and it gave me a ton of River feels, so I guess that's why I needed to write this chapter. Rest assured, since I started this story I have had a very specific plan for Melody, she is going to the Library...just not yet.**_

_**Speaking of feels, I'm so not handling the idea of Matt Smith leaving as the Doctor...I knew it was coming but...well, damn...**_

_**Ok, again, as always, both trying to bring the war to a close while simultaneously panicking about what I'm going to do afterwards. But onwards and upwards, right!? OK, Geronimo and allons-y!**_

* * *

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Personal Correspondence From Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams to Melody Williams/Prof. River Song  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

28th of May 1945

My Melody,

Happy Birthday, my dearest little girl.

I hope you didn't think I'd forget. How could I ever forget you?

I'd been thinking recently how I never told you about what happened before we met you in Utah. Maybe you might like to know.

A little before we left for America is the first time I thought I might be pregnant. I'd been feeling pretty run down for some time and while your Dad and I weren't trying to conceive we knew even with protection it was a possibility. I was going to tell him actually right before we got the Doctors letter in the post. We'd just come back from the shop and I'd slipped a pregnancy test in with everything and then slipped it in my pocket after we paid for it before he noticed. I don't have to tell you why. You grew up with Rory same as I did, you know how bad he wanted kids. I didn't want to get his hopes up and then dash them. I wanted to be sure.

But then that little blue envelope arrived and the next thing I knew we were on a plane to the States. I was so happy to see you there! Not just because I missed you, which I did but because finally I thought I'd have someone to talk to about all this. Unsurprisingly, my first choice was Mels. When I needed good, solid, pragmatic advice I always went to Mels. You remember. But Mels was far away and even when she wasn't she..._you _ were hard to get ahold of. So I figured if Mels Zucker was unavailable, River Song was the next best solution.

I didn't really need advice per se, there was no question about keeping the baby if there was one. Sure it was early. Sure we had both planned on being more settled, more stable, more grown up and definitely more weaned off the Doctor before we started a family. But life with the Doctor had taught us how unpredictable all those things were. No, I just wanted to talk to another woman about it, what I was thinking, what was on my mind, how excited and worried and thrilled and scared I was.

I tried to get you alone a few times, as we drove in the Doctor's car, at the diner and even as we were setting up for the picnic while the boys talked quietly by the water. But it just never quite happened. In fact, if I remember you were quite evasive at the picnic, even to the point where I worried maybe I was overstepping my boundaries. Now of course it all makes sense. It must have been a bit hard for you, dear. Knowing what was coming, not being able to say anything.

And then...the Doctor died and I couldn't think about anything beyond that. I didn't want to and the pregnancy test I had shoved in my pocket was forgotten. Well you remember the rest...the Doctor ended up being the first person I told. He was the first person I spoke the words aloud to. Doctor...I'm pregnant.

He was also the first person I told I wasn't. I'd gotten a chance right after all the excitement, while the Doctor was saying his goodbyes to you when Rory finally let me out of his sight long enough to clean up a bit. I took the test, waited and what do you know, not pregnant. I was worried about telling Rory for another reason. I told the Doctor it was because we'd been travelling together for so long and what if the baby had a Timehead. Oh how he'd laughed. Yeah, how silly, huh, Doctor? Travelling in the vortex had absolutely no effect on the baby. Insert sarcasm here. He's a right smug arse, isn't he? Of course you know that all too well.

But another reason was...well the Doctor and I had been travelling together for so long..._alone_. I knew the thoughts that ran through Rory's mind every now and then. Had we...? What if the baby was the Doctor's?

There was no way that was possible. I wouldn't have cheated on Rory, not then, not ever. I just want you to know that about your old mum. I'm flighty and hard to handle...but I'm honest, love. And even when I was confused and angry and running, I still loved your Dad more than I lusted after the Doctor. Of course...it wasn't just lust...but I think I'll leave that there for the time being.

And anyways, even if I'd wanted to, the Doctor never let me get close enough after that kiss in my bedroom. No, the first time we were all together was on Christmas and that was done with my husbands full consent and participation.

After I eased Rory's fears we went to bed and lay there talking for awhile.

What were you hoping for? He asked.

I paused for a second as I thought of how to say it.

I honestly didn't know...until I looked at that stick and saw the negative sign.

And? He asked. I could hear him holding his breath.

And my heart broke a bit.

Your Dad gathered me into his arms and I started to cry tears I didn't even know I'd been holding back. I think it was at that moment that I knew, if I had to, I could give up the TARDIS. Not the Doctor, mind you, never the Doctor, but I could leave the travelling behind. Rory and I, though the tears started talking about what our life would be like. He and I and a baby, the Doctor dropping by on a sleepy Wednesday afternoon, all of us reminiscing, laughing as he tried to change a nappy. That could be life, it could be our life and it could be a good one.

Your Dad kissed my temple and asked me softly.

Do you want to try?

I don't know. I said honestly.

I don't know either but...I'm glad you wanted it, I'm glad you want to have a family with me.

Of course I do, Rory. And we will. When our I-don't-know's are Yes's then we will.

He nodded and we left it there, little did we know you were well on your way.

The longest I ever got to hold you was right after you were born. The second we were separated, the second you left my body they spirited you away. I spent the first few minutes after I woke up screaming for Rory, still not understanding how everything I remembered happening was a lie. I spent the next thirteen hours just plain screaming, off and on until my voice finally gave out. Then you were out and they took you away from me and _you _ started screaming. At first I was relieved because it meant, no matter what, you were ok. But then it didn't stop and it kept getting more hoarse, and panicked and frightened. I started reaching for you, all that exhaustion I had felt only moments before just left me and I started to calling, crying demanding they bring you to me. Finally out of more frustration than mercy they brought you over. I opened my arms and they placed the most beautiful, perfect, precious little creature I had ever seen into them. And all that crying stopped. You looked at me and I looked at you and I smiled. You were perfect, every single part of you, you little toes and fingers, your belly, your nose, those little sparse wisps of hair.

Happy Birthday, my love, you look just like your Dad.

Those were the first words I said to you.

They let me hold you all while they patched me up and gave me a blood transfusion and ran all sorts of test on us both. I didn't care, I never broke eye contact with you. I nursed you and I named you Melody and I told you that no matter what, no matter where they took you or what they did to you, my brave wonderful little girl, your Mummy and Daddy would love you. Always and forever and they would never, ever stop looking for you. You fell asleep at my breast and I fell asleep with you in my arms. That was out first birthday together and that was one of the few times the real me got to hold the real you.

I was 21 years old then so that was 19 years ago, for me at least. I'm not sure how many years for you, I admit I don't really know how it works with regenerations and all. I get sentimental around your birthday. I think of all the parties your Dad and I would have planned for you, the presents, the pictures we would have taken. Watching you shove your fist into the cake at one. Seeing your excitement at the balloons and streamers at five. Watching you roll your eyes and pretend to be embarrassed by us at thirteen...I miss those years...I spent so much time crying over those lost years. But I comfort myself knowing that I did get to spend every birthday with you, from seven on up and we had wonderful times didn't we? Remember when the Zuckers rented that pony for your eleventh birthday and you and I rode it all the way to town? Your parents were furious and so was Aunt Sharon. Rory was just upset that we hadn't taken him along. Then remember when we were fifteen and we got those guys to take us to that University party? God we were awful and stupid. That was so dangerous! But we had a lot of fun didn't we? You would have terrorized me and your Dad as a teenager wouldn't you? I can just imagine trailing you all around London in the wee hours of the morning not knowing if we were going to throttle you or hug you to death once we found you.

The years we lost. The years we gained. I can't be greedy can I? My life with you and Rory and the Doctor has always had a certain balance to it, things usually even out in the strangest of ways. I lost my baby girl but I have her back. I love you, Melody. Your Dad and I love you very, very much. When Rory comes home you have to come visit and we'll celebrate properly. No time limits. No restrictions. Just the family.

Have a wonderful birthday, love, wherever you are and whatever you're doing and remember you can always drop by here because you are always, always welcome. While I can't imagine what you're up to at the moment I know what I hope. I hope you're happy and safe and protected. I hope maybe you're with the Doctor and he's taken you somewhere wonderful. (Heaven help that son-in-law of mine if he forgot!). And I hope you feel the love your Dad and I have for you radiating across time. You'll aways be our baby, our wonderful surprise.

Happy birthday, my love.

Love,

Mum


	104. April 21, 1945

_**So I made a mistake. A dumb one. And I was faced with having to either retcon Melody's birthday or retcon WW2. I think you know which one I had to choose, lol. I'm still really ticked at myself for such a tremendous error but at least I caught it now and I made an adjustment to the date in the last Chapter. But in a perfect world I would have paid closer attention and posted it later to preserve Melody's actual birthdate, (I was going by the air date of The Almost People) but oh well. Nothing to be done now. Ok, so the war is almost over! Rory will be coming home very soon. The Ponds will be moving! Adopting! Renewing their vows! At some point a certain dashing Captain will make a reappearance (I'm not sure when)! And a bunch of other things I haven't worked out yet...Allons-y**_

* * *

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Personal Correspondance From Dr. Rory Williams to Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

21st of April, 1945

My Dearest Amy,

Nuremberg is ours. At 11:00 the Germans surrendered and soon after we hoisted the American flag above the city. 7000 Axis troops against 45,000 Allied and they still held us off for six days. It was like Cherbourg all over again. Fighting in the streets, moving from house to house, tromping through peoples bedrooms and kitchens, breaking windows to fire out. In January the RAF boys nearly bombed this city off the planet. Most of it was in ruins before we arrived and we certainly haven't made it any better. We're on the move now, my men and I are headed towards Austria and there is a decided change in the air. I try to keep them calm and focused, now isn't the time to get sloppy or stupid but they can feel it...it's almost over Amy. The war is almost over. We pass by whole towns waving white flags, and we've had several hundred German soldiers surrender to us, sometimes whole units.

I'm sorry this letter is so short but at the pace we're moving I can't stop and write as I wish to.

We'll be well into Austria in seven days and ten days later Germany will surrender. And after that Amy, I'm coming home. According to the Point System...well, with one point for every month of service, one point for every month served overseas and five points for every combat award combined with being an officer...I figure that should be enough to send me back to you on one of the first transports available. I think I told you May 15 but I may have jumped the gun just a bit. I'm thinking more like May 22, still a Tuesday, my love. Thirty seven days, Amy. Thirty seven days until I'm back in your arms.

I love you, Amy.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

See you in five Tuesdays.

Love,

Rory


	105. April 22, 1945

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Personal Correspondance From Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams to Dr. Rory Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

22, of April 1945

Dear Rory,

As much as I want to shout at you, Don't jinx it, stupid face! I've already been marking off the days on the calendar. I've been tracking your progress as best I can online and as far as I can tell your estimates are correct except you're wrong about your destination. You're not headed to Austria, you're on your way to Augsburg and then Munich. When the war ends you'll be just about near Salzburg.

As the days get closer and closer I get more and more nervous. I swear even Spartacus seems to know something is coming. Just for distraction and to calm my nerves I decided to finally make my bridal appointment. It was wonderful! It's just like in the movies, they actually had women come out and model the gowns for me! I chose- Nope, never mind I don't want to spoil it for you. You'll see what I chose when you get home. I'll just say this, I never quite imagined wearing a dress with sleeves!

Just as I was sitting on the soft little sofa, sipping champagne (yes, they gave me champagne!) wishing someone was there sharing it with me Melody appeared.

Hope you don't mind, Mum. I was in the neighborhood.

I threw my arms around her and once I'd introduced the consultant to my 'sister' the appointment continued.

I keep getting older and you keep staying the same! I said giving her a playful elbow to the ribs. One of these days they'll know I'm your mum and then after that they'll think I'm your gran.

She laughed but I could tell that again she didn't like to talk about us aging. So like the Doctor. Maybe...maybe it's time Rory that we stop letting her see the damage, as well.

I guess we never really think about what it's like for her. She lives her life, she gallivants around with the Doctor. He doesn't age and true to her word she's clearly been taking hers down a few years every now and then. then she comes back to us. A we have a few more wrinkles around the eyes, a-... Ok, now isn't the time to be maudlin.

Anyways, we went out to lunch afterwards.

You'll come to the ceremony of course, right? And I don't want to hear any of this nonsense about you not doing weddings.

Wouldn't miss it for the world. Thank you for the birthday letter by the way.

You're my baby. I said with a smile. So, what did the Doctor do for you on your special day?

Oh...it was nice.

I narrowed my eyes completely unconvinced.

Out with it.

Melody sighed and poked at her food.

It really was wonderful. But he was distracted, frenetic but somehow distant. For all my bravado I sometimes worry he's tiring of me. Pulling away.

Nonsense. I said immediately.

You have to say that, you're my mother.

I'm your mother but I also know him very well. He loves you, you're his wife and believe me, he never seemed like the marrying type so this must be the real deal.

He was married before, you know that. She said with a shrug.

Yeah like a thousand years ago when he was a kid. Or what passes as a kid for a Time Lord. He's more mature now...I can't believe I just called the Doctor mature, but there we are. He waited, what, eight hundred years before taking the plunge again? And as loathe as I am to stroke his ego I can imagine it wasn't for want of offers. He married you because he loves you and because he wanted to have a wife and a marriage, unconventional though they may be.

I paused for a second before continuing.

Is it Clara?

She looked up at me her lips parted in surprise.

How dd you-

But I waved it away and motioned for her to continue.

Well...yes, it's Clara. She's young and lovely and clever...and young.

You already said that. Not to mention, you're nineteen.

She sniggered and went on.

The Doctor has an eye for the ladies no matter his claims otherwise. But it's not just looks, he loves a mystery. He falls in love with mysteries. Don't you know that, Impossible Amelia?

I took Melody's hand and squeezed it.

What I know is that he loves you more than anything and if he's distracted then there's a reason but it's not because someone else caught his eye.

There is another possibility...

What's that?

She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again.

I'd rather not say. It's just...sometimes, no matter how much he hates endings, The Doctor has glimpsed the last page. Whether he wanted to or not.

What does that mean? I pressed.

But she wouldn't say anymore. She's got me worried, Rory. And I don't just mean in a regular spoilers sort of way. But no matter how I tried she wouldn't give me a straight answer.

I suppose the good news is we can sort it out as a family when you get home, which will be soon. So incredibly soon I can hardly stand it.

I miss you, baby. I love you.

See you on Tuesday.

Love,

Amy


	106. April 27, 1945

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

27th of April 1945

Dear Doctor,

We crossed the Rhine over a month ago now and have been working our way across Western Germany. It's slow, bloody going but we advance far more often than we fall back. There are things I've left out of my letter to Amy, things I've left out of my journal because I don't want to remember them. I saw incidents I haven't witnessed since the Great Famine of 1315. Then I saw emaciation, mass starvation, people literally dropping dead in front of me. The roads I traveled with the Pandorica littered with bodies. Disease, murder, even cannibalism. But that was for all intents and purposes a natural disaster, well, as _natural_ as disasters can be. But this is unnatural. Horrible. Too horrible even for words and certainly far too horrible for the words of an inarticulate soldier.

By avoiding Austria we avoid Mauthausen-Gusen. But in Munich, Dachau awaits us. There soldiers will have arrived before us, liberated the victims and survivors, more than likely put the guards to work in their place if not executed them on sight.

I have had enough of death, Doctor, and yet, as an old Roman, my soul cries out for a brutal and swift justice and judgement. No trial. No mercy. No quarter. Let this all end. Let all those who wore the swastika find the sharp end of a blade, the dull fury of a bullet.

Hundreds of years ago I saw people, the ones I couldn't save, the ones I as Abbe Wilhelm couldn't arrange to be smuggled from the country burned alive on stakes set upon grassy hilltops. Their screams of innocence or curses carried away on the breeze.

Before Constantine abolished the practice in 337, I saw hundreds upon hundreds of men crucified. I walked past their bodies as they rotted and the vultures picked at their eyes.

I witnessed the gleeful support of the the Crusades in Europe as the tales of the murderers and the murdered driften back to our ears.

I saw the poor, abandoned in the streets and the wealthy run for the countryside as the Black Death closed in around London.

I have seen the blackness of the human heart. I have seen what we do when we are left to our own devices.

I can't help but wonder, why do you love us, Doctor? Humans, I mean. Perhaps I'm just in a bitter, angry mood but I'm tired. I sometimes think all those times that I know about and the thousands of times that I don't that you stood in for us, that you stepped up and said not this day...I sometimes think maybe you shouldn't have bothered. I have lived far too long to delude myself with the idea that humans get better, wiser, smarter, that they grow or learn. We don't, we're still proto-creatures, hurling rocks at the sun and bludgeoning anyone we come across.

Why do you do it? Why us? Why not just let us or some other life form wipe us from this planet. Let us burn in some sort of grand celestial fire. Let there be a reaping...

I think I'm forgetting, Doctor, I'm forgetting some of the magic and wonder you showed us. I'm forgetting how big the universe is. I'm forgetting that there is love and beauty and grace...and I never forget anything.

I want to come home, Doctor.

I know, I _believe_ that soon I'll be home. But...I suppose today was just a bad day and the following will probably be worse.

Remember when you took us to Aridius? And we all went out into the night and laid in the grass and stared up at all those stars.

"All that, Ponds...all of that, my loves, that's what we have left to explore." You raised your finger and pointed at some distant body. "What...about...THAT one?"

We laughed, you always made us laugh. And we agreed. We always agreed didn't we?

I miss the magic you brought to us, Doctor.

Christ, I think I just miss my wife. These will more than likely be the final days that I ever tread upon European soil in my life time. I have said my goodbyes. This is no longer home. Amy is home. Melody is home. The TARDIS was home. You were home.

I want to come home.

I miss and love you.

Thank you, as always, for listening.

-Rory


	107. May 7th 1945

_**Trinity is the first and only official test of the nuclear bombs that were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The pre-test occurred May 7, 1945 with the real test to follow on in the New Mexico desert Jornada del Muerto or "single day's journey of the dead man" on July 16th 1945. Oh my goodness guys, if today is May 7th, do you know what tomorrow is?**_

* * *

7th of May, 1945

My Dear Amy,

Again, I apologize for my absence. I have been so busy and so distracted as of late that the task of writing seems almost too overwhelming. Not that you are ever a task or a burden, my dear. I simply haven't figured out the proper way to separate my work from the rest of my life...what little remains. It disturbs Dorabella as well and I fear I haven't been a very good husband as of late. She misses the stability of Chalk River and her heart longs for Scotland. Or perhaps she would simply rather be anywhere but here.

I can't say that I blame her.

It is difficult to believe that it's been nearly a month since President Roosevelt died. I suppose we should take comfort in knowing that he was certain the end was in sight. Pity he didn't live to see the final act. But he isn't alone. So many went slogging before him. So _many_... And with even more yet to follow behind him.

My dearest Amy, I would be proud to give you away. What an honor and certainly one I never dared dream of. If you'll pardon the liberty, I often have flattered myself and thought if I had been able to have children you are exactly the sort of daughter I would have wanted. A fine, lovely, spirited Paisley girl, fearless, independent, kind, wise, clever and so incredibly brave.

I am so very glad the Doctor brought you into my life, Amelia Pond-Williams.

I've been thinking about the Doctor a great deal lately. Wondering what he might say to me how or _if _ he would counsel me. Would he be angry or simply disappointed? Would he still consider me a friend? I wish he were here now. I'm sure you do as well.

The pre-test for Trinity was conducted today. It went off smashingly well if you'll pardon the pun.

Little stops us now.

Little could.

Take care, Amy.

Yours,

Bracey


	108. May 8th, 1945 V-E Day (Amy)

_**V-E Day, May 8th, 1945, otherwise known as Victory In Europe Day. Italy had already surrendered, now Germany, all that remained was Japan. As the news was announced people flooded the streets in London, Paris, New York, Chicago, Miami etc. etc. The war was winding down with an Allied victory seeming almost assured. It would still be another two months until Japan's unequivocal surrender and the cessation of every WW2 theater of war. **_

**Supplemental: Archival Records  
Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams  
Frequency: Intermittent  
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

8th of May, 1945

Dear Doctor,

At a little past 8 AM I heard a gunshot. And then another and another and then great whoops of laughter and excitement. I will find it endlessly funny and strange that the report of a weapon would signal the end of a battle.

Sunny came knocking on the door about fifteen minutes later, frantically calling my name.

I affected a look of sleepy exhaustion, which wasn't far from the truth, I had been up all night and felt nearly dead on my feet. My eyes were tired from reading.

Amy! AMY! Amy for God sake open up!

I opened the my door and peered at her

Have you heard? She asked. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, her eyes were red but shinning with a sort of tragic happiness I'll never be able to describe on paper.

Amy, it's over.

Of course I knew. Of course I'd heard. Of course I'd spent the entire night poring over firsthand and secondhand accounts of the celebrations. Of people waking to the news that Germany had surrendered. I had already hastily dashed off my Women on the Home Front reaction article that I knew my editor would be asking for. I had known and waited for this moment for longer than I'd ever waited for anything in my life. Of course I knew but I didn't want to rob her of the moment of telling me.

What's going on, what happened? I reached out to touch her cheek. Are you alright?

The news just came across the wire. Germany surrendered! The war is over!

And somehow, Doctor, even though I knew, even though I'd been reading about this date over and over, hearing someone say it out loud made it all the more real.

It's over? I asked in a small voice. I needed to have her repeat it. I needed to hear it repeated somewhere outside my own head.

It's over, Amy. They're all going to be coming home.

She drew me into a tight embrace and I held her just as close in return.

Rory will be coming home. She said softly.

Rory will be coming home. I repeated after her, scarcely believing it now that the moment had arrived. I'm sorry, I don't know what's gotten into me.

Poor thing, I must have scared you half to death. I was just so excited I had to rush over. Come on, let me make you a cup of tea.

On unsteady legs I followed her into my kitchen and watched her put the kettle on.

I'm not sure when I started crying. But in a second she was at my side embracing me again and I was clinging to her as if for dear life. I thought back to that moment, over a year ago when I'd heard something shatter and rushed to the kitchen to find her crying and Rory holding her tightly. I thought that would be me some day, crying over the death of my husband.

I'm sorry, Sunny. I'm sorry to cry when you've lost-

Nonsense, how could I take offense. Of course I miss him. Everyday. But missing him doesn't mean I ever wanted anything but a safe return home for Rory and that's just what's going to happen.

The tea kettle began to whistles and she gave me a teary smile before moving to take it off the heat.

We'll have some tea and cookies and we'll listen to the radio.

So we did.

We sat in the kitchen and we listened to President Truman address the country and the world and announce that the surrender of Germany was official.

He talked about how the victory was tempered with the sober understanding of how many lives were lost in the process. He declared today a national day of prayer and he said something that sounded so important to me. So scary but so important.

_The job ahead is no less important, no less urgent, no less difficult than the task which now_ _happily is done._

No less important. No less urgent. No less difficult.

Somehow it reminded me of life with you, Doctor. After we'd finished one adventure before we had time to break much less rest on our laurels the phone was ringing again or the TARDIS was taking us somewhere glaringly off course. It was never finished. And what we had to do was no less important than what we had done.

A bigger adventure. There's always a bigger adventure just round the corner isn't there?

Even Michael is excited, if you can believe it. I can't tell you when I last saw him smile. I wonder what happens now. What sort of world has all this made?

A better one. A worse one. One that isn't much different than it was the day before.

Sunny smiled and squeezed my hand.

Amy Williams, philosopher.

Something like that. I said with a laugh. Hey, what say we go to Times Square?

Times Square? Whatever for?

For the celebration.

You think they'll be one?

I couldn't help but smile to myself. Oh I think one or two folks will show up.

I dressed quickly and we went to Sunny's flat to get the children ready. On the walk over you could already tell the difference. People were smiling and laughing, drinking, a sailor grabbed me about the waist and spun me around. We did a bit of a dance right there in the middle of the street. He laughed. i laughed and then he took off his hat, bowed and walked away disappearing into the crowd. Another man thrust a mug of beer in Sunny's face and she took a big gulp of it enthusiastically much to the delight of everyone around us. She and I grabbed hands and took off at a run, giggling the whole way to her apartment.

The kids were of course already up, playing with the toy swords from two Christmases ago, deeply engrossed in a game of war and surrender. Michael greeted me with a grin and a kiss on the cheek. Not long after that we set out again, happy to get lost in the throng.

All around us people were shouting and cheering and crying. I saw people flooding in and out of churches and bars. The closer we got to Times Square the thicker the crowd became and we held on tightly to the kids so they didn't get lost or frightened.

People were hugging, kissing and crying. Oh Doctor, there were so many tears. I grabbed a newspaper with the words GERMANY SURRENDERS in enormous print and tucked it into my purse to show to Rory later on.

We broke into spontaneous songs, Happy Days Are Here Again and Remember Pearl Harbor and The White Cliffs Of Dover and When The Lights Go On Again. We sang so loudly and so long that as dusk began to grow around us I was nearly hoarse. Men had climbed lightpoles and were hanging from them and laughing drunkenly. There was a giant to scale version of the Statue of Liberty looking down on us playing hostess to all the activity. Everyone, everywhere was of the same mind tonight. it was over. We were all almost out of the dark. There was a future coming and for once we could all dare to look at it and not be quite so frightened anymore.

I've never seen anything like this in my life! Sunny marveled and I agreed.

By evening the constant toning of bells had stopped, Broadway was lit up again for the first time in years and a giant spotlight was sweeping back and forth over the crowd. Mayor LaGuardia came over the loudspeaker and told us all to behave ourselves but I don't think anyone was listening. It was joyous and raucous and the only thing that could have possibly made it better would have been if Rory were right there with me. In fact I was enjoying myself so much that wanting to get home to him was my only motivation for leaving. In the end we were all exhausted. Sunny and I each picked a sleepy child and made the slow progress back to her flat. We could still hear the crowds even from there. We talked quietly for awhile, I told her goodnight and walked back to our flat.

Almost as soon as I arrived Rory sent a message.

Back home yet, love?

How did you know?

Because Amy Pond never misses a party. Was it mad?

It was wonderful, I've never experienced anything like it before, ever! I suppose V-J Day will be much the same except you'll be here to share that with me.

Are you ready, Mrs. Pond, ready to have me puttering about the house and getting under foot. You've lived as a single gal for so long now, how long will it take until you're sick to death of me?

Puttering about the house? Given up work, have we? You'll be too busy doctoring, Doctor. But seriously...Rory?

Yes, love?

Once I get you back I may never let you go.

I think I can handle that. Don't worry, I'm not going to want to go. I'll be home for good. Happy V-E Day, Amy.

Happy V-E Day, Rory.

Well, I suppose that's all for now.

HAPPY V-E Day.

Take care of yourself and know that your family loves you.

Love across the stars, Doctor.

Your,

Amy


	109. May 20, 1945

_**A/N Here it is, the close of the European Theater of WW2. Rory is on his way home by way of Operation Magic Carpet which once it was said and done brought 8 million military men and women back home. They used huge cargo vessels called Liberty ships and Victory ships that could be built quickly, easily and cheaply and were employed throughout the war. Once it ended, many were converted into troop transports. Apparently a lot of the engine room scene in Titanic were filmed on the Liberty Ship SS Jeremiah O'Brien. Ok, guess that's all. There is a tiny surprise that I wonder if you'll pick up on before it's revealed. I kind of hope not! Alright, that's all I got.**_

**Supplemental: Archival Records**

**Marker: Journal Entries From The Journal of Dr. Rory Williams**

**Frequency: Intermittent**

**Provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams**

20th of May, 1945

Dear Doctor,

For the second time now, I have seen the twilight of World War II.

Wars don't end the way you think they might and I have gone through so many cessations of hostilities it's old hat now. One moment you have you rifle in hand, aimed, cocked, ready and the next a voice blares over the loudspeaker, a voice so garbled, so distorted and choked with emotion you can barely understand what it says.

Major! Major, did you hear that?

One of my men asked me frantically and though I knew, without even hearing I didn't want to take the moment away from him.

What did they say, soldier?

The war is over. I'm sure of it! They just said, the war is over!

And so they had. And so it was.

Just like that, somewhere a treaty is signed, a winner is declared and four years of fighting comes to an abrupt end. I knew that celebrations were happening all over Europe, all over the world but here in Salzburg I urged my men to stay subdued. All around us white flags of surrender hung from windows. There might have been victory on the streets of London, celebrations in cabinet rooms as ink dried. But there was no room for celebration here.

And so began the demobbing process. Most of that day was a strange blur. There were impromptu meetings, checking and double checking orders over walkie talkies and just helping men come to grips with the abruptness of the news.

The early morning hours of the next day were spent covering up foxholes and gathering equipment. We were nearly finished just as the large transport trucks started to roll in. After an hour or so we boarded them and we were off. The trip seemed endless on one hand, mile after mile on bumpy roads , all of us crammed tightly against one another. on the other when we weren't passed out from sheer exhaustion my men were talking excitedly about all they do when they returned home. I even volunteered a bit of information myself. I'd remained a bit of a mystery to them all these long months so when I spoke of something personal they tended to quiet down and listen.

I wrote Amy several times over the long ride, chatting with her was, as always a lovely way to pass the time.

We crossed as much of Germany as we could during the day before picking a site and camping for the evening. The next morning we took up the bivoac and were off again, still half asleep. Hours later, we found ourselves in France. It took a few more days before we arrived in Le Havre...and when we did all the chatter went silent.

There was a bit of down time before we boarded and I took a moment to say my farewells to France. I had always meant to bring Amy here, always meant to see it not destroyed by war. To watch France flower and bloom in the easiness of spring. I spent my time here when it was Gaul but even then it was almost constant tribal fighting. I suppose it was never meant to be.

I spotted a young man standing on the outskirts of the cigarette camp. He looked small and nervous and the closer I got to him the more I realized he was a boy, not a man at all. He gave a quick and practiced salute when he saw me. I smiled and said at ease.

Your name, soldier?

The boys call me Freddy. Freddy Mott.

Nice to meet you, Freddy.

Nice to meet you as well, Major. You off then, sir? Off home?

Looks like. You?

No, sir. Only just enlisted awhile back. Paratrooper. My luck, I tell you, I sign up and they decide to call it a day.

Plenty of work left to be done, we'll be occupying European soil for years to come.

Of course, sir.

He peered at me then, seeming nervous to ask his question while simultaneously being unable to hold it back.

Been here long then, sir?

Long enough. I said giving him a small smile.

Did you...have to kill anyone, sir?

I nodded slowly, not wanting to elaborate which seemed fine because he didn't really appear to want me to either.

But that doesn't mean you'll have to. I added putting a hand on his shoulder. Serve your conscious and you can't help but do your country and your King proud. Understand?

He nodded and I noted the relief that swept over his face.

How old are you, son?

His eyes flitted around nervously for a moment.

Sixteen.

Sixteen? I asked. We'd had men, even in our own division who signed up years before they were eligible but I hadn't run into one. You should have stayed home, son. No cause to be eager to jump headlong into this. Is there's one thing that's true enough about human history it's that wars are like buses, they'll be another one along if you just wait a bit.

That's what Eileen said, more or less.

Is that you girl?

Yes, sir.

Make sure you get back to her in one piece, alright?

Yes, sir.

My ship was boarding and I gave him a nod of farewell before turning back.

Private?

Sir?

You said they call you Freddy. What do _you_ call you?

He smiled then as if he'd been waiting for someone to ask.

Back home they call me Wilf. I suppose I like that well enough.

Nice to meet you, Wilf. Stay low, keep your feet moving, Private Mott. You'll come out alright.

Thank you, sir. I will, sir.

I turned to join the line with my men, an endless line that snaked on forever. It took a good two hours to board partly because they had to give us a medical once over, you know checking for STI's and the like. But eventually we were there, inside the great expanse of a Liberty ship as it steaming towards home.

And that's where I'm writing to you, the belly of this ship in an atmosphere of joy and hope and fear and sadness and expectation that I can't fully describe. We're all going back to pick up our lives again, and that fills all of us, even me with terrific and nervous wonder.

This is the last war maneuver I will ever participate in. Operation Magic Carpet.

I'm finally coming home.

Take care, Doctor.

Thank you for being with me, every step, every moment. I couldn't have managed this without you.

The next time I write you, I'll be in Manhattan.

Love,

Rory

_**Yay, I stuck Wilf in there! I couldn't resist, I'd been planning that just for awhile. I really became fond of the idea. It's mentioned in the End of Time by "The Woman" that he was an old soldier who never took up arms and never had to kill anyone and that by the time he arrived the war was already over. I couldn't resist. Ok, here we go, Rory is on his way home!**_


End file.
